


Seven Nights With The Starecross Ghost

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Ghosts, Hauntings, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Character death?, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sexy Times, Slow Burn, Soft Boys, Soft Boys Calling Each Other John, but also lots of fluff, fairy stuff, ok now that the tough stuff is over with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: John Childermass dies violently, but that is only the beginning of his troubles.Thank you as always to my wonderful beta emilycare. Your kind words and helpful suggestions are always so much appreciated *bows*
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 35
Kudos: 26





	1. New Friends Reunited

It was a cold spring morning. Frost encrusted the holly leaves and bloomless rose bushes and danced with icy fingers upon the dead brown grass out in the garden. All the window panes were iced over, as it was early March, and the chill hadn’t yet left the lands around Starecross Hall. 

John Segundus sat at the breakfast table, a half eaten piece of buttered toast in his hand, chewing absently and thinking about what the day might bring. He was chilly, and put his toast down to take a sip of tea, which had also cooled to a temperature that was unlikely to warm him very adequately. Still, maybe by the taste of the tea alone, he would feel bolstered enough to get started on the day’s work.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and froze, cup halfway to his lips, listening carefully to the sound of the shoes descending toward the kitchen in hopes that they might belong to John Childermass. Childermass, in his great, black coat, had arrived last night, after eleven, with Vinculus in tow, covered in rain, their clothing all filled with gusts of cold air. Segundus had greeted them warmly and offered them food and drink (which Vinculus accepted eagerly but which Childermass waved away with a small, tired smile.) Childermass had been away for several weeks and Segundus had found it momentarily difficult to hide the joy he felt at seeing the man again from splashing across his face like a bright banner. 

Yes, those footsteps _did_ belong to Childermass. Segundus had learned the sound of them well over the past year that they’d collaborated on building the school for magicians at Starecross Hall. He knew the scrape and weight of Childermass’ boots by heart. Seconds later, he saw that very same pair of well used black boots descending the stairs before the rest of Childermass, dark waistcoat and dark, patched jacket, hair hastily pulled back, came into view. The man’s face was the last thing to clear the landing to the second floor and make an appearance in the kitchen doorway, and Segundus looked away swiftly, down at the cup of tea in front of him before his eyes could fully rest on Childermass’ eyes. 

“Good morning Mr. Segundus,” Childermass said in his rough, tired sounding tone. It was the way his voice often was on mornings after long trips to this or that city, chasing down old, hidden books of magic. As if he’d forgotten what it was like to sleep in a real bed, and having done so for the first time in weeks, he struggled to come fully to wakefulness as quickly as he usually did. 

“Good morning Mr. Childermass,” Segundus replied with a small smile, striving greatly to contain a larger, broader smile that threatened to break across his face at Childermass being near again, here in the kitchen again. It _had_ been quite a long trip hadn’t it? And it should be perfectly natural for Segundus to be pleased that a friend (for that is what Mr. Childermass had become over the past year since Strange and Norrell had disappeared) had returned to Starecross. “Would you care for some toast sir? Or some tea? The cook has also made up a gruel and has a spare sausage or two from last night’s dinner if you prefer?”

Childermass replied that he’d have some toast and tea and sat opposite Segundus at the kitchen table. As he sat, a gust of pipe smoke and the smell of the windy moors, Childermass’ usual smell, struck Segundus, and he could not help but feel warmed and fond at the now familiar feel of the other man’s presence opposite him. Childermass reached for a piece of toasted bread, a nice, dark loaf baked just yesterday by the cook, and for a knife to spread the butter. 

“There’s jam as well,” Segundus offered helpfully, indicating a small pot of strawberry jam with a nod of his head.

“Thank you,” replied Childermass with a twitch of a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. His face, which upon first (or was it third or fourth) viewing, had seemed intimidating and glowersome, had now grown softer with the familiarity of daily contact. His smile, which had once seemed always cool and ironical, had taken on hints of kindness and mirth that Segundus now found reassuring. They’d not had a good start to their current friendship. Childermass had admitted, regretfully, a few months into their association through the school, that he’d cast a spell of forgetfulness about himself in some prior dealings with Segundus and Honeyfoot, so that Segundus had struggled to remember the first three times that they’d met. 

Childermass had waved the spell away and after a few days, Segundus had started remembering things about the other man that he hadn’t been aware of before. That Childermass had been the man on the steps of the cathedral, so long ago now, when Mr. Norrell had first done his magic for the York Society. And before that, that he’d also been the man in the library when they’d first met Norrell. The first time Segundus had even had an inkling of having met Childermass before, it was when he’d come to demand the dissolution of the Starecross School Of Magic. And even then, he’d known that this person was under the employ of Gilbert Norrell, and that the sight of him usually meant some sort of dark or mysterious or unpleasant thing was afoot, but beyond that, hadn’t been able to summon up a sense of familiarity. 

After the disappearance of the two magicians from England, Segundus, upon the strong urging of Mrs. Lennox, and from his friend Mr. Honeyfoot, had started up the plans to open the school again. And to his surprise and delight, Childermass had not only allowed this, but had offered to help. He’d explained, somewhat sheepishly, out in the garden, with his black battered hat in his hands, that he’d only shut the endeavor down in the first place as a devoted servant to Norrell. And now that Norrell was gone...why he himself wished to be more involved in the learning and teaching of magic. He wanted to find other magicians to aid him in his translation of the King’s Letters, and to find new spells and new books on magic that had not been stolen away along with the library at Hurtview. 

Segundus had been privately very pleased to hear this, but also trepidatious. He did not know this strange, dark person with the black coat and the long, ragged hair. Or rather, he did not know him _very well_. Childermass had about him the air of a villain, a thief and a general ne’er do well. But...after several months of pleasant conversation, sometimes fraught with minor arguments, but mostly harmonious, he’d learned that there was more to the dark, ironical man than met the eye. He after all, had been the one to bring Lady Pole’s finger back to her so that Segundus could break the poor lady’s enchantment. He had been the one who’d come to stay and help Segundus and Honeyfoot and Purfois and Levy and a few other promising magicians who were steadily advancing in their independent studies who acted as part time instructors. 

Childermass could always be relied upon to sit in on a class and expound upon ideas, if Segundus prompted him with a careful question or two. He never fully offered to teach a class of his own, but, would instead lounge in a chair to the side of the room, face half shrouded in a fall of unkempt hair, and would happily speak on this or that matter once Segundus had implied that he himself had run out of knowledge on the subject. 

It was a delicate friendship they’d built. It relied heavily on neither party actively mentioning the connection between them. Segundus knew somehow that Childermass was much like a stray cat. He would rub against one’s legs and mewl to be fed and would condescend to be petted by the fireside for an hour or two, but that he’d always eventually saunter off into the darkness again to go on his own adventures. Segundus knew this about Childermass, and so he never tried to urge the man to stay longer or take up permanent residence at Starecross. Even though, and these thoughts caused a strange combination of shame and warmth to bloom behind his breastbone, even though he wanted this to be the case quite earnestly. 

Segundus watched furtively while Childermass spread butter and then some of the strawberry jam on his piece of toast and poured himself a cup of tea. He tried to make his glances short and friendly and not let his eyes linger on any part of Childermass’ face or hands for too long a time. He knew that this would likely unsettle the other man, who didn’t like scrutiny. Even if the scrutiny was of a fond, friendly sort. It had been many days since Segundus had had the opportunity to look upon Childermass’ face, and he’d missed it. Missed the ironic twist of the man’s clever mouth, the spark in his dark brown eyes. He’d missed Childermass’ long, mussed hair that continually fell in his eyes and shadowed his features when he looked downward. He missed Childermass’ gruff voice and his sly sense of humor. 

It occurred to Segundus that this feeling of missing, of wanting to see Childermass more often spoke of a depth of feeling that he was unprepared to fully acknowledge. He told himself it was the warmth of simple friendship, and that he had few friends, outside of dear Mr. Honeyfoot, and that he doubted Childermass had many friends either. One would not necessarily call Vinculus a ‘friend’. He was more like an unruly child and a cantankerous old man and a stray dog all rolled into one. 

And so Segundus attributed these furtive, needful glances in Childermass’ direction and the persistent warm thoughts about the man’s general character to the blush of newfound friendship. It was natural was it not, to think of one’s new friend often. To wish continually to know their opinion on the happenings of one’s day. To fondly recall one’s new friend’s face at all hours …even when one drifted off to sleep at night. Quite normal yes. 

“How have the students been Mr. Segundus?” Asked Childermass around a mouthful of bread. 

“Oh!” Segundus realized he’d been staring absently at Childermass’ hands around his teacup and jerked himself back to the present moment with a small shake of his head. “They are doing quite well. We lost three though. The Winthrop girl’s chaperone became ill, which necessitated her to go home early until the poor woman can recover and escort her back to finish her studies. Jeremiah has gone home to see to an ailing sister and Tom fell in love with a local girl from Starecross village and eloped.” This last bit he said with a tone of mild disdain, because it was Segundus’ personal opinion that running off to marry was the least understandable reason in all the world to abandon one’s study of magic. 

“You do not approve of Tom’s elopement?” Childermass asked, seeming to have picked up on the hint of dissatisfaction in Segundus’ voice. 

“Well,” replied Segundus cautiously, not wanting to sound too stodgy. “I am certainly glad that he found his heart’s companion, and that the young lady seemed to return his ardor. He’s a good lad and deserves a fortuitous match. It is only that…” here he paused, unsure of how to say what he wanted to without coming across like the world’s most cantankerous bachelor. “I simply cannot understand how the pull of newfound love could ever tempt a person away from the study of magic.” He looked up and into a pair of dark eyes that were now sparkling with something...mirth?

“Marriage is not as important as magic?” Childermass asked, with a laugh weaving its way through his tone like a babbling brook. 

Segundus winced. “Well, yes,” he replied honestly. “Could he not have finished out a few years of solid study before running off to marry and start a family? I cannot imagine wanting such a thing myself when there is a wealth of magical knowledge still left to discover. How could even the dearest and deepest of affections compare with the learning of magic?”

“So, you’ve never been in love then?” Asked Childermass, his voice going careful for a moment. “You’ve never been tempted to abandon magic by the sight of a well turned ankle or a pair of pretty eyes?” 

They’d never before talked of things so personal and so far from the study of magic as romantic love. Segundus felt his face go all hot and he cleared his throat nervously before replying. “I most certainly have not,” he said, a little more forcefully than he’d meant to. “I have loved books all my life and have pursued the acquisition of magical knowledge, and now the practice of magic, steadily for the past twenty years. If I had let some comely lass distract me, why, how would we have ever found ourselves here, in this new school? I’d have likely been pulled into the fathering of a great many children and be consumed with the husbandly duties of the running of my own household. Who has time for magic when one is married?”

“But, Mr. Honeyfoot has time for it.” Childermass countered, his voice still strangely careful and intent, as if there was something very important being discussed, rather than the frivolity of marriage. “He has a wife and daughters and a house of his own and yet he devotes himself tirelessly to the teaching of magic.”

“Yes,” agreed Segundus with a small nod, “but, as you can also see, he scarcely has two or three nights a week in which he can come to the school. He must dine at home with his family most nights so as not to neglect them. And he is a far older man than I. His daughters are mostly grown.” He did not mention the fact that he had been pushed toward the eldest Miss Honeyfoot several times now as a potential suitor, nor of the equal number of times he had blushed and fled the moment propriety allowed. 

Childermass nodded in agreement. Segundus was not sure if his nod meant to imply that he agreed with Segundus’ thoughts on marriage in general, or his thoughts on Mr. Honeyfoot’s or young Tom’s marriages in particular, but realizing that this line of questioning was becoming intensely awkward, he redirected the topic to safer ground. 

“How was your last trip?” He asked, reaching to pour himself a cup of tea. The students, being mostly young people, often slept in quite late and Honeyfoot (as if in support of Segundus’ recent opinions) was home with his family this morning and so they were alone in the kitchen. “You mentioned finding a new book somewhere… in Hartlepool you said?”

“Yes,” replied Childermass, washing down the last of his toast with a draught of black tea and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I heard tell that there was an elderly widow who had quite a collection of books on magic that somehow, neither I nor Norrell had ever heard tell of. I paid her a visit and a good bit of silver and she was persuaded to part with them.” 

“Oh my. I hope she was not too resistant…” Segundus could not help shake the feeling that Childermass could be a bit intimidating to those less hardy than himself. Not that he counted himself among the strongest or sternest of men, not by a long shot. But he was familiar with Childermass now. With his moods and his dark looks and his silent ways of leaning in corners and of being mysterious in general. A poor old widow woman might not be quite as immune to such theatrics and might have felt threatened into selling.

“She was not. To own the truth, she seemed glad to be rid of them and glad to have the silver. Said it would go toward food to help support her daughter’s family and smiled as she sent me away with them.”

Segundus nodded, breathing a small smile of relief. “But that cannot have been the entirety of your trip,” he said next. “You were gone for weeks on end. And Hartlepool is only two days ride away.”

“True,” Childermass reached into his pocket of his coat for his leather pouch of tobacco. “I shall happily tell you more details of the journey, if you would but accompany me out to the garden so that I may smoke my pipe. I know that the cook and Mrs. Lennox are not fond of my smoking indoors.”

Segundus agreed eagerly and the two men made their way outside. Segundus stood, contemplating the dark edge of the wood in the early morning sunshine as Childermass lit his pipe with a burning twig from the kitchen fire and puffed upon it for a few silent moments. Since it was early, and since the dawn’s light hadn’t quite breached the tops of the trees, the forest around Starecross Hall looked dark and somewhat foreboding. Segundus wondered if his impression was helped along by his knowledge that fairy roads and enchantments were lurking within the branches of such places as woods and valleys and cold river beds. 

“My trip was extended due to my having heard a rumor that a man in Sunderland, further up the coast had the ability to read magical texts. Vinculus and I were obliged to travel another day’s journey to visit him and suss out the measure of his expertise.”

“And what came of it?” Segundus prompted, daring to look at Childermass through his cloud of pipe smoke. 

“He was quite an interesting man indeed. A Mr. Stonewater, whose father and grandfather had been book binders. He’d noticed as a young boy that he had a particular skill to decipher any text, no matter how garbled or how faded or stained it might be. His family and the local townspeople decided that he must be in possession of a natural sort of magic himself, for his skill is quite astounding.”

Segundus was instantly excited by the prospect of another possible magician, or at the very least, another soul who could act in a magical fashion. “Oh my how fascinating!” he chirped, “We should invite him here to Starecross Hall!” He bounced a bit on the balls of his feet and turned to Childermass, gripping his arm in his haste to ask more questions. 

He only realized belatedly that he had done so when the other man froze. One moment, Childermass had been standing in a leisurely fashion, smoking his pipe, and then the next, when Segundus’ hand came to grip him gently by the upper arm, the natural, relaxed posture of his body swiftly transformed into the stock stillness of a statue. They had only ever touched once before this, when Segundus had invited Childermass to take his arm to lead him to Lady Pole’s bedchamber on that fateful day, a year ago now. Touching was not a part of the lexicon of their friendship. 

Segundus quickly let go of Childermass and stepped away, looking down at the withered, winter browned grass of the garden beneath his feet and feeling his face grow almost unbearably warm. 

Luckily, Childermass covered for the awkwardness of the moment by speaking, his voice betraying none of the stiffness that his body had exhibited only seconds ago. “Yes, such a thought occurred to me as well,” he said. “I have invited him, and he may yet come.”

Segundus cleared his throat and endeavored to cover for his obvious faux pas by asking another question. “And how did he fare with reading The King’s Letters? Was he surprised to see Vinculus?”

“There are few people alive who do not react with some strong emotion to their first sight of Vinculus,” Childermass replied with a soft chuckle. “But yes, he was all amazed by my wayward, unruly book. He and I spent many a long hour by candlelight, poring over the contents of Vinculus’ skin and he was able to give me quite a bit of insight into the structure of the language written there.” 

Segundus felt a strange flash of resentment at Childermass’ words. The thought that his friend had spent so much time alone with this Stonewater fellow caused him a surprising pang of jealousy. Segundus himself had found Vinculus' blue tinted skin impossible to look at for more than a few moments before developing a fierce headache and needing to go have a lie down. To hear that Childermass had spent several long and intimate evenings bent in study in the company of this man…it hurt strangely. And it was a pain with no rational cause. Childermass was only seeking help in reading The Kings Letters. Yet still, to think that for the past several days, Childermass had been bestowing the gift of his company exclusively to someone else…a someone who shared something so vital to Childermass’ life’s purpose...it made Segundus feel shamefully possessive. 

To cover for this lapse in character, Segundus continued the conversation, attempting to keep his voice light and curious. “And what did you discover?” He asked. “Were you able to translate any passages of words? What was their meaning? I hope you do not mind me peppering you with questions, but it is such good news to hear of your windfall with regards to your book.” 

“Yes,” agreed Childermass with a nod. “He helped me decipher quite a few passages. Just short phrases and a few stand alone words. It was very slow going and at the end of a fortnight, he was thoroughly tired out. He is quite advanced in years, and I thought it best for me to return again some other day to continue our work so as to not endanger his health.”

“He is...an elderly gentleman?” Segundus asked, feeling his heart grow lighter and a flush of relieved warmth spill through his chest. 

“Yes, quite elderly. I hope his health and stamina remain with him long enough for us to work together again.” 

“I should very much like to hear about your findings,” Segundus said, smiling a true smile at the realization that Childermass had spent the weeks they’d been apart, studying Vinculus’ skin with an old grandfather and not a handsome, young man as Segundus had assumed. “But I know that your journey was a long one, and so I’d be happy to wait until tomorrow. Honeyfoot will be coming tomorrow as well to help with our classwork. I know he’d be sorely disappointed to miss your report.” 

Childermass nodded in acknowledgment. “I should find out where Vinculus has gotten himself off to,” he said, glancing about fruitlessly. They both knew the dusty ragdoll of a man wouldn’t show himself until he felt like it… He could be quite stubbornly invisible when he wanted to. “What do you plan to do with the rest of your day Mr. Segundus?” He asked. “Might you care to join me later in the library to peruse the new books I brought from the widow’s house?”

“Oh, I’d like nothing better!” Exclaimed Segundus happily, trying to keep his smile from splitting his face in two. “Perhaps we can have dinner together and then have a look at your books afterward in the library?”

Childermass agreed that this would be amenable, and the two men parted ways. Segundus went to prepare to teach the first of his morning classes, and Childermass to find out where his wayward book had gone and to ascertain if the man had stolen anything or menaced the female students with his leering. 

Several hours later, they met up in the kitchen for a light dinner of cucumber sandwiches and cold chicken and tea. Childermass asked how the classes had gone and he and Segundus passed the meal pleasantly in discussion of which students shewed promise and which were likely to return home and go immediately into the family business with nary a further thought to magic. Childermass gave Segundus some good pieces of advice on how to retain the students’ attentions in the longer hours of the afternoon (as they sometimes fell to dozing and gazing out of windows after they ate). He suggested the casual dropping of a stack of books on a table to shock them into attention, or...that Segundus should speak more loudly and passionately in the afternoon than he did in the mornings. 

Afterward, seeing as Segundus was done teaching for the day, the two retired to the library to pour over the new books. They spent an hour or so in intense discussion of the contents of the books and their practical application, and it occurred to Segundus, that he hadn’t been this happy in weeks. Sitting, surrounded by a stack of books, across a table from Childermass, embroiled in the most enthusiastic of friendly debates on the usefulness of the volumes Childermass had brought, he felt alive in a way he rarely did when Childermass was out wandering with Vinculus. 

Of course, he was always happy to be discussing magic, or teaching magic, or doing magic. But there was also the fact that he was spending time with Childermass. The man had a delightful, wry sense of humor, and a slow, steady way of expressing himself that made Segundus feel at ease to respond in kind. Well, mostly at ease. There were several times when their eyes met and held, or their hands brushed accidentally when passing a volume back and forth between them when Segundus felt not relaxed at all. He felt instead a furtive flickering of nervous energy in the pit of his stomach and felt his throat grow tight and his face grow warm. 

He knew these feelings weren’t proper. He knew they spoke of something else, something quite apart from warm friendship and intellectual collaboration. But he’d been suppressing such feelings for the entirety of his life, and it had become a well worn habit. The fact that these improper feelings rose up more strongly than ever before when he looked at Childermass had not escaped his notice, but he forced himself to train his attention to other things. To the words on the page before him, or to the opinions Childermass spoke as he pointed out this or that helpful spell. 

After another two hours spent in intense discussion, Lilly, the kitchen maid, alerted them to the fact that supper was being served in the large dining room, and Childermass and Segundus left off their study and their conversation about magic and went to eat. 

The dining hall was crowded, what with the five remaining students, as well as Childermass, Segundus, Vinculus, (who had been tempted out of his gamboling about at the of the edge of the woods to come and eat), Purfois, Levy, and the two chaperones for the two remaining female students sitting around the large table. Many platters of roast meats and potatoes and pitchers of watered wine were passed around, and several students took up Segundus’ attention with questions about the day’s classes. 

Childermass was in conversation with Vinculus, looking stern and disapproving, and Vinculus was laughing at him and waving his wine cup about in a fashion that threatened to spill wine onto the table cloth at any second. It was a lively and cheerful gathering and Segundus felt the warmth of being perfectly at home unspooling inside his chest. Oh to be surrounded by so many devoted to the study and practice of magic! And with everyone getting on so well! It had nothing of the spitefulness and competition of Strange and Norrell’s acquaintanceship. 

The meal wound down, and Segundus again found himself in conversation with Childermass about the new books. There was a particularly promising spell of resurrection that they’d been studying just before the call to supper. He was asking Childermass if all spells of resurrection did not have about them something dark and unpredictable, or some form of pernicious fairy magic. Childermass replied that he believed that the dead could be raised (quite soon after death, and for a good and noble cause) without the sorts of concerning or cataclysmic side effects they’d heretofore seen in the resurrection of Lady Pole, or of the now legendary resurrection of the dead Neopolitans done by Strange on the peninsula. 

They passed the rest of the meal in deep discussion of the possibilities of the use of good and helpful magic to return those who had died tragically or unfairly to the bloom of life. Segundus was in fact so engrossed in the conversation with Childermass that he failed to realize that everyone else had left the table except the two of them and Vinculus, who was snoring gently with his head pillowed on his folded arms next to Childermass. Lilly would shoot him a disapproving glare whenever she entered to remove another stack of plates and platters, as if unable to believe anyone could be so rude. 

With a start, Segundus realized how late it must be and excused himself to his rooms. He might have imagined the glint of disappointment that echoed in Childermass’ eyes upon hearing him say goodnight. Or perhaps he hadn’t? 

“Very well,” Childermass said, standing and stretching with a groan before shaking Vinculus awake. “We should find our beds as well. I believe Mrs. Lennox said we could have a pair of rooms in the east facing corner of the house.”  
  


“Yes, yes,” Segundus was quick to reassure him. “I asked her to give you the two rooms closest to my own,” then, when it dawned on him what he’d said, he hurried to explain further. “I thought that if you had any questions, or if there were any concerns that came up in your studies, that you could simply knock on my door.”

Vinculus chuckled in a way that made Segundus feel flushed and uncomfortable, and Childermass elbowed him and gave him a sharp look. “That’s very considerate of you, Mr. Segundus. I’m sure we won’t bother you at all.” And with that, they bade him a good evening. Or at least Childermass did, with a small bow of his head, while Vinculus leered at him and sauntered off in Childermass’ wake. 

Segundus wasn’t feeling tired. In fact, he was feeling buoyed up by the conversation about magic and their shared discoveries from the books Childermass had acquired. He decided to go back down to the library to take some notes, so as not to forget all they’d discussed. He had been too swept up in the conversation, and in watching Childermass’ face change as he’d spoken of magic, to remember to write anything down at the time. If he didn’t do so now, some important and salient detail might slip away from him. 

He went first to his room to find some paper and his quill and inkwell. He kept these things by his bedside in case he had magical dreams that needed taking down, or to simply take notes with when something occurred to him that he wanted to remember. He then went to the library and set himself up with the stack of Childermass’ new books. Childermass had in fact told him that he was happy to donate these volumes to the library in order to help with the magical education of the students. It was a grand gift indeed and did nothing to ease the warm ache in the center of Segundus’ chest when he thought of his rough, road weary friend with the sly smile. 

After an hour or so of writing (for there were many notations that Segundus had planned on making) he began to feel quite drowsy. His eyes kept drifting closed and his head would nod. This was unusual as he was not in the habit of becoming sleepy this early in the evening, and definitely not when engaged in the study of books of magic. 

He had his chin supported on his hand and at one point, after nodding off for perhaps the third time in as many minutes, his chin slipped and he knocked his head against the table. This should have woken him up more, but despite the fact that it had caused a sharp pain and a flash of irritation, it did not rouse him from his sleepiness. His mind was still lucid enough to realize that knocking one's forehead against a hard oak table ought to have jarred him out of his drowsy state, but instead, his somnolence did not lessen in the slightest and he felt himself drifting into unconsciousness. His last thought before slipping beneath the dark waves of sleep was that something was definitely horribly amiss.


	2. Shadows At The Forests' Edge

Childermass woke with a start. It was black inside his room and for a moment, he was mightily disoriented. _Where was he?_ After a few moments of deep breathing to calm his pounding heart, he remembered that he was back home at Starecross Hall. _Back home_. It was a strange pair of words that floated through his mind, for he’d never before thought of any place as ‘home’. Not even Norrell’s house at Hurtview or in Hanover Square had felt particularly homey to him. And yet, here, in the creaking, musty darkness of Starecross Hall, in the middle of a sparsely populated part of Yorkshire, he felt more comfortable and more like himself as he had anywhere else. 

He’d arrived the day before last. Yes, and he’d spent most of yesterday in the company of John Segundus. Yes, he remembered now. He’d gone up to bed after dinner and had fallen deeply asleep within minutes. He’d had a dream, the ragged edges of which were still tickling at the corners of his mind. A disturbing dream with conflicting images. Those of a pair of dark, soft eyes and soft lips speaking his name, and then a splash of crimson and the rasping flap of a bird’s wings, feathers singing in the darkness. The old bullet wound in his shoulder ached as he levered himself up further against the bolster and ran a hand through his sweat damp hair. He was drenched in sweat he realized. And his heart was just now slowing from its frantic pace to a steadier gallop.

It must have been a nightmare that had awakened him. And a bad one, if the state of his clothes was any indication. He rolled out of bed and felt his way to the door in the darkness. If he could open the door and let in a little light from the hall, he could find the tinder box and light a candle. But upon opening the door, he realized how thirsty he was, and so he stepped out into the hallway, intending to go down to the kitchen for a cup of water. Upon doing _this_ however, he happened to notice that Segundus’ bedroom door, the one directly next to his own, was cracked open. This was quite unusual. He never knew Mr. Segundus to leave his door ajar, as people walking by in the hallway often distracted him from his nighttime reading. That, and he was also a very private man. Not in the habit of leaving his door cracked open in an unspoken invitation for visitors. 

Candlelight spilled from the crack in the door, which was also unusual. Segundus was not a night owl. He usually went to bed at about eight or nine, and stayed up reading until perhaps ten or eleven o’clock before turning in for good, usually before midnight. Now, it had to be the early hours of the morning… Childermass could tell from a lifetime spent sleeping under the stars, and here was Segundus’ bedroom door ajar and his candles lit. 

He should have gone down to the kitchens, should have gotten his water and gone back to bed, but the strangeness of his dream, and his curiosity over why Segundus might be awake so early combined to make him pause outside his friend’s door. He could hear no noise from inside. No sound of Segundus breathing or the high pitched whisper of page on page. If the man had forgotten to blow out his bedside candle, it would have surely snuffed itself by now. It must be four thirty or five o’clock. The lighter black of the coming dawn could just be seen tinting the windows at the end of the hall. 

Childermass could not think of a reason to peek inside the room, or to push the door open. Both would be breaches of the careful walls he’d put up between himself and the slight, dark haired man who’d become his fond acquaintance over the past year. He knew he must refrain from getting too close to Segundus. Yes, he allowed himself the pleasure of engaging in intense debate and discussion on the uses of magic, and the warmth of companionable meals taken together in the kitchen. That much was acceptable. What was not allowed however, was what Childermass wished to do instead. 

And so, where a maid, or even Mr. Honeyfoot might not be looked at twice for knocking gently and asking if Segundus were alright, such an action was closed to Childermass. Closed to him because of what he thought and felt underneath the simple action of pushing open another man’s bedroom door in the early dawn hours while in his nightdress. 

He could however, he realized, peek into the room if he stood a distance away from the door, so that the whiteness of his nightshirt would not shew to Segundus if he were in fact inside his room, awake in his bed. And so he crept slowly, keeping his back to the wall and aligned his body with the crack in the door so that he could peer inside and discern if things were alright. Yes, he knew that snooping about outside Segundus’ bedroom door was not exactly what would be considered appropriate behavior, but since knocking upon it was inappropriate as well, he had nothing to lose. And he’d never been one overly bothered with appropriateness in the face of a real concern. 

And he _was_ concerned. Something felt off about the morning. The nightmare that had awakened him, that he could not now quite recall in any true detail, the feeling of pervasive dread that was slowly mounting inside his belly when he’d seen Segundus’ door ajar and had seen light coming from within. Too many unusual things were happening in too short a time to be coincidence, and Childermass was highly attuned to strange happenings and ill portents. 

There was the faint feel of magic being done, but unlike before the disappearance of Strange and Norrell, everyone in England was allowed to do magic now, and he was standing in a _school for magicians_ at this very moment, and so he could not use that feeling as a sign that anything was amiss. He simply _felt_ that things weren’t quite right. 

His feelings were confirmed when his peek inside Segundus’ room shewed that it was empty. His bedsheets and blanket appeared untouched. A single candle was lit and standing in the candle holder on his bedside table, flickering away brightly and casting a warm golden light onto the bed. This was concerning enough to have Childermass finally pushing the door open and walking into the room. He looked about him at the floor and along the walls, just in case Segundus happened to be standing somewhere away from the candle’s reach, or, god forbid lying sick upon the floor. But the room remained empty. Childermass went and grabbed the candle holder and used the light of the candle to go back out the door and into the hallway. 

This is when he happened to look down and see the footprints. There were dark footprints leading away from Segundus’ room and toward the stairs. 

Childermass had seen Segundus’ bare feet on two prior occasions. Once, when they’d both wandered into the hallway early one morning to head to the kitchen, perhaps seven months ago. Childermass had not known what to do when confronted with a sleepy, rumpled Segundus in his nightdress, his hair mussed and cheeks pink from the morning cold. He’d cast his eyes downward immediately, to hide his expression, to give his eyes somewhere less dangerous to rest upon. That is when he’d spied the man’s pale, white feet. Large for his height and long and very elegant, peeking out from under the hem of his nightdress.

The second time, Segundus had stepped on a stray thorn that had escaped Lilly’s flower basket and had lain in wait to bite his heel. He’d come down in bare feet because he’d been in a rush (and tended to become forgetful about which articles of clothing he had on or did not have on when he was hurried) and had stepped on the thorn. He’d yelped, making the cook jump in surprise and had sat down to inspect his wound, tutting worriedly over his forgetfulness and clumsiness, not even thinking to blame Lilly. 

Childermass had been having breakfast at the time, and had watched the whole incident with intense interest, itching with the urge to offer to extract the thorn from Segundus’ foot. To take that slim ankle in his hand and hold it while gently pulling the thorn free, perhaps using a cloth to soak up the small drops of blood from the slight, pale man’s heel with careful fingertips. But he’d kept quiet and had watched surreptitiously through his fall of dark hair as Segundus had tutted fretfully and pried the rose’s thorn from his foot. 

The footprints (for Childermass was beginning to be convinced that they were Segundus’ as they matched his memories of the man’s feet) were made by soot, or some other black material. Ash or mud perhaps. Childermass leaned down and touched the heel of one such print and then lifted his hand to the candle’s light to examine it. 

Blood. Red and staining his fingertip with a garish smudge that made his heart race inside his chest at the sight of it.

The footprints were made in blood. And they were leading away from Segundus’ room. Childermass felt his stomach churn as the implications of what this could possibly mean, crowded into his mind and battled for supremacy. Was Segundus hurt? Had he been wounded? Was he suffering from some sort of illness? Perhaps he had come across some carnage somewhere… a felled dear or a wounded dog and tracked the animal’s blood about Starecross Hall without realizing it? This was highly unlikely, but why Segundus would be bleeding from both feet was a mystery, and one he had to solve immediately. He followed the footsteps down the stairs to the first landing, and that’s when he heard the kitchen door bump closed one flight down. Now he began to run down the stairs in order to see who had just entered or left the house. 

To his dismay, the footsteps led out of the kitchen door and out into the garden. He had hoped to find Segundus, sitting in the kitchen after just coming _in_ , not to find an empty kitchen with someone having just left it. He wrenched the door open and flew through it, forgetting that he was in his nightdress and bare feet with how urgently he needed to find Segundus and reassure himself that the man was unharmed. This fact was brought back to him with a jolt however, when his bare feet hit the frost encrusted grass and icy cold slate pathway of the garden beyond the kitchen door. He gasped in shock, but had no time to go back inside to dress, so he forged onward, wincing with the cold. The candle in his hand guttered and died and he tossed it onto the ground as he walked onward.

Far ahead, at the very edges of lawn, where the dark forest butted up against the more manicured land of Starecross’ back garden, he could see a pale figure. It was early, and still mostly dark and so Childermass could not be sure if it were Mr. Segundus or no, but he sped in that direction. The figure seemed to sense that it was being followed, and turned briefly, showing a pale face and dark hair, little more than a smudge in the dim light that was just now touching the corners of the sky with gentle fingertips of gray, before turning back and disappearing into the trees. 

“Mr. Segundus!” Childermass yelled, not caring if he woke the whole of Starecross Hall with his yelling. It was ill advised to walk into any dark wood at high noon, let alone in the early morning hours before dawn. The hours between midnight and sunrise were well known as a time of day when fairy magic had the strongest hold over the realm of men. How could Segundus have been so stupid? Or perhaps, he was laboring under an enchantment? 

It did not occur to Childermass that he himself should not be out at the edges of a dark and foreboding wood in the predawn darkness either. He was almost certain that it was Segundus who’d left the footprints, (they showed black and gleaming on the dry, tan colored grasses leading up to the forest), and his only thought now was to fetch him and bring him back to Starecross Hall unharmed. His own feet were numb and aching from the coldness of the early spring frost and goose pimples had risen up all over him with the chill in the air. He cursed his lack of forethought, but then realized, if he had any chance of catching up with Segundus, he’d never have had the time to put on more clothes. It was now or never.

With that thought in mind, he reached the edge of the wood, and stopping briefly to take a deep breath, he plunged through the bracken and brambles at the entrance and made his way under the black canopy of the trees. 

He immediately realized his mistake, when upon clearing the edge of the forest, he looked around and realized that Segundus was nowhere in sight. The man’s pale nightdress would have shone like a beacon in the darkness under the trees, and yet, he was nowhere to be seen. 

Someone else was there though. It was a tall man, with long, dark hair, a pale face and a haughty expression. Childermass stopped short, gasping for breath, feeling the scratches and tears on his bare feet start to sting as he regarded the man, and the man looked back at him with an air of arrogant detachment. 

“You sir, are a fairy,” Childermass said, stating the obvious. The fairy nodded. His face was beautiful in the extreme. Dark, gleaming eyes looked out at Childermass over high, sharp cheekbones and a cruel, sensual mouth. His clothes were old, at least a century out of date, and faded, but had once been extremely fine. He wore a dark velvet doublet, encrusted with pearls and dark hose. Silver and gemstones were scattered about his person in the form of rings and necklaces and he even had what looked like two small diamonds hanging one from each of his ears. 

“That I am,” he replied, in a voice that cracked with the aching song of old tree branches and sang along with the sharpness of the frost beneath their feet. “And you, you sir, are one of the English _magicians_ I’ve been hearing so much about.” The word, ‘magicians’ was spat out with the utmost bitterness and disdain, as if it were a foul curse, and Childermass knew then that he was in real trouble. 

“Where is my friend?” he asked. “Do not tell me you’ve stolen him away, for if you have, I’ll be very angry, and then you’ll see what an English magician can get up to when he is angered.” It was pointless bravado, but it was all Childermass had with which to defend himself. 

“He is unharmed,” replied the fairy. “He is back inside your house of murdered trees, sleeping away like a babe. I pulled you out here using his image as bait. It is interesting that you would call him your _friend_ though, when every particle of your being longs to make him your husband.”

Childermass’ mouth fell open in shock. Firstly because he had not been prepared to be flayed open so obviously by a complete stranger… even one so alien and magical as the fairy. He had never told a living soul of his feelings for John Segundus (least of all John Segundus) and to have that knowledge thrown out so casually was unsettling indeed. The second reason for his shock was the use of that word... _husband_. He had heard tell that fairy folk paid no heed to gender or sex when finding a mate. That they frolicked with those they found appealing, without care for Christian sin. It was one of the reasons why the society of humans found those acts so very immoral and sought to punish them with prison or even execution. The love of one’s own sex was seen as being wicked, an act practiced by godless creatures. Yet to have this attitude of lax permissiveness applied to himself, to have his heart’s most secret and shameful desires propped up before him so blithely was startling. Unsettling. 

He shook himself of his shock and forced himself to refocus his attention to the cold face of the fairy standing before him. To be distracted in the presence of the fay folk often meant death or enchantment. “I could bring him out here if you’d like,” the fairy continued. “Let the two of you frolic together under the ground for the rest of your days.” A small smile played about at the corners of the fairy’s coldly cruel mouth. “Would you like that _magician_?”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” growled Childermass. “Leave him be and tell me what you want with me.”

“Oh,” sighed the fairy. “I want nothing from you but your death.” He said it with all the emotion of a man at breakfast remarking on the quality of his tea. Then he raised a bow that Childermass had not seen before. It was knocked with a black arrow that looked to be fletched with raven’s feathers. He pulled back, took aim and shot in one smooth motion. 

The arrow flew true and straight, with a whistle of feathers through the air that reminded Childermass of his dream, and it struck him in the chest with a solid thud. He staggered back with the force of it, stumbled and fell. Pain bloomed like a cruel flower in the muscle and flesh under his left collarbone and he gasped, bringing his hands up to grip the shaft of the arrow embedded in his flesh. The wood felt cold against his fingertips and it jerked gently with the beat of his heart. He heard the fairy chuckle mirthlessly and then blackness stole up and pulled him under. 


	3. Mr. Childermass Brought Low

Mr. Segundus awoke with a start. It was quite early, for the windows in the library still shewed the first gray hints of dawn. His head felt full of rags and his mouth was quite dry, probably from sleeping with it gaping open. His candle had burned down to almost nothing at his elbow, the wax leaking down over the candle holder as it guttered gently. He’d never have wasted an entire candle by forgetting to blow it out before sleeping, and he’d never have fallen asleep in the library in any case. Something strange was afoot. 

Some noise had woken him, and he wasn’t sure what, but he was frightfully cold. A window must be open somewhere. His mouth was dreadfully parched and so he wandered to the kitchen to fetch himself a cup of water. That is when he saw that the kitchen door was open. Only by a crack, but even that small gap was letting a lot of cold air into the house. The kitchen door was never left open. The cook, a scowling, older woman with a hawk’s eye for details, would never have allowed such a lapse. 

What was stranger though, and infinitely more concerning were the dark footprints leading across the kitchen floor and out to the back garden. Something was dreadfully amiss and Segundus could feel the wrongness of it in his very bones. He felt the jumbled tingle of magic having been done tickling at the corners of his awareness. All the students were surely asleep at this time, and so to feel the magic so strongly and distinctly meant it was unlikely to be coming from one of them. Gripping his candle holder with it’s guttering nub of a candle tightly in his hand, he opened the door and stepped out onto the lawn. The footprints led off into the gray light of early morning. Making certain to close the door behind him, he set off across the lawn. He knew he should have gone and fetched his coat, as it was cold outside, but he had his jacket and underthings, vest and neck cloth to protect him from the chill. It would have to be enough. The feeling of urgency spurred him onward, and it seemed there was no time to go back and outfit himself appropriately for this strange adventure. He simply felt it in his bones that haste was of utmost importance. 

The footprints led out across the garden and toward the dark woods at the border of Starecross Hall’s grounds. This fact made Segundus’ blood turn cold with the realization that whomever had left them must have walked toward the trees and perhaps into them. This was folly of the worst sort, as the woods were known for hiding all manner of enchantments and fairy mischief. Regular magical wards and guards were put up around the perimeter of the forest in order to protect the Hall’s property from such spells and enchantments, but... magic was not an exact science, and since the wards had never been tested, it was impossible to tell if they even worked. 

The footsteps led closer and closer to the forest, and then Segundus could see the pale form of a body, lying crumpled on the ground, only a couple of feet from the forest’s edge. He approached with trepidation, unsure if what he was seeing was in fact a person, or if it was some trick of the pale gray light. But yes, it was indeed a person. A man, lying supine on the ground. An arrow, black and menacing, was stuck in the man’s chest, and with a jolt, Segundus realized that it was Childermass. 

“Mr. Childermass!” he ran to Childermass’s side and fell to his knees, feeling dread settle in a cold pool inside his chest and sharp tendrils of fear curl up into his scalp upon seeing the pale, still form of his friend, lying on the ground, pierced by an arrow. “Mr. Childermass!” he yelled again, not daring to touch him, hands hovering about Childermass’ face. Childermass stirred at his name being shouted and his eyes fluttered open. He gazed up at Segundus blearily, as if waking from a heavy sleep.

“John,” he said weakly, “dear god, John. You are alright,” strangely, his face displayed an expression of incredible relief. As if it were Segundus who’s life had been in grave danger, rather than Childermass’. He reached up a hand, covered in dark blood and Segundus gripped it in both of his own.

“Mr. Childermass! What...what has happened? Who shot you? Why are you out here by the woods? Oh! I must fetch a doctor!”

“No,” Childermass’ grip on Segundus’ hands tightened and he pulled Segundus down a bit closer. “No, there is no time for a doctor. I am dying quickly.”  
  


“No! Mr. Childermass, no!” Segundus’ mind was racing and all a jumble. The pale white color of Childermass’ skin and the mass of dark blood pooling on his chest and the slippery feel of his hand in both of Segundus’ own was shattering his concentration, but...he knew a few spells that might help. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

“I had a dream,” Childermass muttered, his voice soft and faltering as his strength bled out of him, and Segundus could only half hear him, so intent was he on remembering the words of Teilo’s Hand, the spell to stop wind and rain, but that could also be used to stop bleeding. He could just remember the incantations and set himself to muttering them over and over. 

“In my dream, I saw a pair of pretty eyes. A voice called my name,” Childermass was saying, his words a distracting underlay to Segundus’ frantic spell casting. “I thought they were yours, but they were _his_ instead.”

Segundus kept up the repetition of the spell for another few seconds, hoping beyond hope that he’d done it correctly and that the red, slick blood currently leaking out to darken the white of Childermass’s skin and nightdress would stop. After he had done that, he began work on the spell of Removal he had learned several months ago. I was often used to pry stubborn and rusted nails from wood and to seal up the resulting hole, but it might also work to remove an arrow and seal up the wound it had inflicted. He alternated the speaking of the Removal spell, along with repetitions of Teilo’s Hand and then Removal again and he saw the arrow move infinitesimally. Childermass screamed in pain.

Segundus stopped his spell casting for a moment and looked back down at Childermass, who was staring wide eyed and deathly pale. “I will need to remove the arrow and seal up your wound with Removal,” he explained, his breath coming fast with the panic that now gripped his insides. “It will hurt very much, and for that I am sorry.”

“I should have said so many things,” Childermass spoke as if he hadn’t heard Segundus, and perhaps he had not. He had lost a lot of blood and may have been delirious from the pain. “I should have said it. I see that now,” he continued, voice faint and tremulous. He pulled at his hand and Segundus released it and Childermass reached up and placed it against Segundus’ cheek. “I have been a fool,” he said. 

“Shush now Mr. Childermass. All will be well,” Segundus reached a hand up and placed it over Childermass’ hand against his cheek, feeling the slickness of the blood upon it and fighting to hold back tears of anguish. “Shush now. I will do the magic and have you right as rain. I am dreadfully sorry for the way it will hurt. There is nothing to be done about that now.” He kept his hand pressed over Childermass’ and shut his eyes and took up the alternating spells a second time. Teilos, then Removal, then Teilos, then Removal.

“John,” Childermass’ voice was weak, but he sounded as if he wanted to say more, and then, when the arrow moved again, he gasped and fell senseless. Segundus winced at causing his friend so much pain, but he did not stop. He kept up his muttering of the spells. Childermass’ hand became limp and he grasped it again tightly between his own, and he kept saying the words of the spells over and over, over and over. 

He had no idea of how long it took, but a soft noise made him open his eyes and he saw that the arrow had come clean out and had fallen to the ground beside them. He laid Childermass’ hand gently down and swiftly pulled aside the neck of Childermass’ nightdress to inspect the spot. He saw an angry red line, about the length of an arrow wound upon the pale flesh of Childermass’ chest, but it was just a line, like an already closed wound, not a gaping hole as he’d feared. No blood oozed from it. He felt a rush of relief so profound that he almost keeled over from the strength of it. _It had worked_. His clumsy muttering of the spells had worked.

Quickly, he pressed his fingers to Childermass’ neck, finding it cold and clammy. He held his breath and sent up a fervent prayer that he’d find a pulse. For a moment, he felt nothing, his eyes blurred and his heart pounded so loudly that at first he could not be sure if the faint movement beneath his fingertips were Childermass’ heartbeat or simply his own. 

He breathed deeply, striving to calm the hammering of his own heart and waited, and then...there it was. A pulse so reedy and light as to be barely detectable. And there, he could see Childermass’ chest rise and fall shallowly with his breathing. He let out a sob and felt hot tears spill down his cheeks as another wave of relief washed through him. He grasped Childermass’ hand and dared to press it, cold and wet with blood, to his cheek and he wept tears of joy. Childermass was not dead. He still lived. Yes, he clung to life just barely, but that was enough. Segundus could find a way to preserve the flicker of Childermass’ pulse. He could find a way to make it stronger, to bring him back. He had to. The alternative, losing him forever was unthinkable. 

It was then that he heard a commotion from Starecross Hall. A door slamming and men and women pouring out of the house, making exclamations of alarm and confusion. Segundus quickly set Childermass’ hand down and scrubbed the tears from his eyes with the back of his sleeve. It would not do to be seen clutching the other man’s hand and weeping like a war widow. He stood as several of the students, stable hands, Charles, the cook, Lilly, Purfois and Levy came spilling out of the house and rushed toward them. 

“He is barely alive!” Segundus warned, stepping between them and where Childermass lay on the ground. “Please, fetch blankets to wrap him up for he is deathly cold! Please fetch the doctor from the village. We will get him inside and warm him up.” 

One of the stable hands ran off to saddle a horse and go for the doctor while Lilly and another chambermaid, Charlotte, ran back to the house to fetch blankets. Segundus waited, anxiously, unwilling to leave Childermass’ side long enough to help. Soon though, the girls returned with heaps of blankets and they gently wrapped Childermass up until he looked much like a large loaf of brown bread. Segundus checked his pulse again and found it a tiny bit stronger, though he was unsure if this was because his own had calmed somewhat or if Childermass were improving. 

The next two hours or so were spent in picking Childermass up (which took Segundus, Perfois, Levy, Charles and two stable hands to accomplish so that he was not unduly jostled) and gently conveying him into the house and up the stairs to his room. Segundus took up the muttering of Teilo’s Hand again and again so as to keep Childermass’ wound from reopening. They would have left him downstairs only it was far too busy a space and Segundus feared having him too close to the kitchen door, as clearly some fairy mischief was afoot. The arrow that had been removed from Childermass’ breast was tossed onto the fire and burnt up at once. It screamed as it burned, sounding for all the world like a dying child, and had all the servants nerves on edge. The chambermaids burst into tears and fled the room and the stable hands went white upon hearing it. 

Once Childermass was safely back in his bed, Segundus and Charles cut his blood soaked nightdress away, and cleaned him and his wound as best as they could with cloths soaked in hot water and a little soap. It was difficult for Segundus to be confronted so by Childermass’ nakedness, and he kept a sheet covering the man’s lower half so as to preserve his dignity and privacy. After they’d cleaned him and put him in a spare nightdress of Segundus’ (which barely came to the middle of his shins because it was too small for him), they covered him back up with blankets and waited for the doctor to come. 

The doctor arrived shortly afterward and shut himself in the room with Childermass for an hour or so. He came out looking grim and took Segundus aside in his room to talk. 

“He is very weak and has lost a lot of blood,” he said. “I examined his wound and it has sealed itself up quite well. From the angle of the shot, it appeared to miss his heart by a very small margin. One inch to the left and he would have perished instantly.” 

Segundus felt his knees go weak and he swallowed thickly “Will he live sir?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation he felt from coloring his voice too strongly. 

“He may. It is hard to tell. Keep him warm, and if he regains consciousness, feed him light broth and water and let him rest. I shall return tomorrow to check on his progress.” He gave Segundus a bottle of laudanum should Childermass wake and be in pain, and with that, the doctor left. 

All day, Segundus sat by Childermass’ bed. He brought a book with him, but he could not force himself to read it and only opened it and pretended to read it when someone came up the stairs or past Childermass’ open bedroom door. He pretended to read because the alternative, that he kept his eyes trained upon Childermass’ face, with his heart full of painful longing, was a thing he wished no one to witness. 

Childermass slept on, senseless to the world. His face was deathly pale and his chest rose and fell in the shallowest of increments. His eyes twitched back and forth behind his closed lids, as if he were beset upon by wild dreams. Segundus watched him intently for what must have been hours, feeling as if it was his gaze alone tethering Childermass’ soul to his body. He knew it was foolish, but he was a man teetering on the edge of despair, and all he could think to do was keep watch. 

He must have been deep in hopeless thoughts, because some interminable time later, he felt a warm hand come to rest on his shoulder. He looked up into the concerned, round face of Mr. Honeyfoot. 

“I came as quickly as I could,” Honeyfoot said, giving Segundus’ shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I was told he was shot by a fairy in the wood. Is this true?”

Segundus nodded, unable yet to speak. He noticed that the room had grown dim as dusk approached and watched as Honeyfoot went about lighting candles and a lanturn to make the room glow with a warm yellow light. 

“Have you eaten today?” Honeyfoot asked, looking at Segundus with concern wrinkling his brow. Segundus shook his head. “Well then,” Honeyfoot replied, “off to the kitchen with you. Go and fetch some food. I will watch him while you are gone. And Mr. Segundus,” he said gently, ”it is best to wash your face before you go down.” 

Segundus didn’t want to leave Childermass’ side, but he could think of no good excuse to stay, and so he nodded and rose, wincing as his joints complained with moving after so long spent in one position on the wooden chair by Childermass’ bed. He went to the mirror above the washbasin on the set of drawers in Childermass’ room and saw the reason for Honeyfoot’s instruction to him. He had blood, Childermass’ blood, staining the side of his face, giving him a ghastly appearance indeed. He quickly washed his face with soap and cold water and dried it. 

He thanked Mr. Honeyfoot for his concern and his aid and stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen. Once there, he saw that Mrs. Lennox was at the table, along with Levy and Purfois. All three glanced up when they saw him. The looks on their faces, fear and surprise, told him all he needed about his appearance. He had slept in his clothes and his hair was a mess, and he likely still had traces of Childermass’ blood on his face, as he’d washed quickly and not very thoroughly. 

“Dear, dear Mr. Segundus!” Exclaimed Mrs. Lennox as she rose from the table and came to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and peered into his face with obvious concern. “You poor man! You must be ever so frightened for the life of your friend, Mr. Childermass. Have you eaten today? You must sit with us and have some pork and potato and a good, strong glass of port to bolster your spirits. Come! Come!” She took Segundus by the elbow and led him over to the kitchen table. Levy jumped up to make a place for him and Mrs. Lennox pressed him down into the chair and bustled off to procure him the promised food and drink. Segundus nodded politely at the other occupants of the room, feeling strangely awkward and out of sorts. He’d spent the past several hours holding vigil at Childermass’ bedside and it felt...disrespectful somehow to abandon his post for something so small as his own hunger and fatigue. He felt quite certain that he’d have been able to sit by Childermass for the rest of the night, not sleeping, eating or drinking, holding the man with his gaze and guarding him from harm with spells. 

Soon, Mrs. Lennox returned with a plate of pork cutlets and roasted potato and scolded him until he ate the majority of it. He gratefully accepted the glass of port and drank it down swiftly, asking for another, which Mrs. Lennox was only too happy to supply. After his second cup, he was feeling drowsy and so he politely excused himself to go back upstairs. 

“You should sleep Mr. Segundus!” Mrs. Lennox called after him. “You have been through much today and a few hours of sleep will do you good!” 

Segundus did not want to sleep, but when he’d returned to Childermass’ room, he saw Mr. Honeyfoot sitting in the one chair, leafing his way through the book Segundus had brought with him. He approached, intending to ask Honeyfoot to let him stay instead so that he could take up his vigil again, but Mr. Honeyfoot only gave him a stern look and told him firmly that he must lie down and rest. It was half past five o’clock and the sun was well on its way to setting below the horizon. The light from the windows was a deep, burnt orange and dimming swiftly.

Segundus stumbled into his room, leaving his door open in case Honeyfoot should need to wake him. He didn’t intend to sleep, only to close his eyes momentarily, but he must have been far more exhausted than he realized, for he was unconscious the moment his head rested upon the bolster. 


	4. The Ghost of Starecross Hall

Childermass came slowly back to consciousness in fits and starts. He was slipping in and out of a dreamlike state and images from his dream, if in fact it was a dream, kept inserting themselves into the moments of wakefulness, until he could not discern which was which. There were trees, dark and silvery under a full moon, and darkness. But then the trees sprouted up again and an owl flew low over the bed. And then darkness descended again. 

It took Childermass a while to realize that the alternating images were do to him opening and closing his eyes. Apparently, and this was quite confusing indeed, the darkness happened when his eyes were opened, and the silvery wood sprung up before his eyes when they slid closed again. It was disorienting in the extreme, but soon, he was able to keep his eyes open in the darkness and discovered that it was not completely black. He could just make out the bulky shapes of furniture in his room at Starecross. He heard a sound, a man snoring and turned his head to see the slumped and sleeping form of Mr. Honeyfoot at his bedside. 

Segundus, where was Segundus. The last thing he remembered was the man kneeling above him, looking full of fear and apologizing for the pain, though why he thought it was his fault was beyond Childermass’ ability to comprehend. He sat up on the bed and was surprised to find himself free of pain and that he could move easily. He looked further, beyond Honeyfoot’s bowed, gray head and saw something strange indeed. He should have looked at the wall of his room where it bordered Segundus’ room, but what he saw instead was Segundus himself! Lying on his stomach on his own bed in a pool of yellow candlelight. It was as if the wall between their rooms did not exist and had become as clear as glass. 

Childermass swiftly got out of bed and found himself back in his usual clothes, his jacket and trousers, neck cloth and waistcoat. It was as if he had simply lain down for a midday nap and was just getting up again. He had a dim memory of a blood soaked nightdress, but it was fleeting and hazy. He walked toward Segundus’ bed, expecting at any moment to walk into an invisible wall, but he encountered no obstruction. He walked up to the bed and leaned down a bit so as not to wake Honeyfoot.

“ _Mr. Segundus_ ” he whispered hoarsely. He saw the man’s face twist with annoyance and heard him groan and turn in his sleep so that he was lying on his side, facing Childermass. He curled his knees up to his chest and promptly fell asleep again, his brow smoothing under the fall of his dark hair.

“Mr. Segundus!” This time, Childermass whispered more loudly and Segundus blinked himself awake. His eyes came to rest on Childermass’ face where Childermass was bending over him, and then his eyes went wide with shock. 

“Mr. Childermass!” he exclaimed, scrambling to sit up on the bed. “Mr. Childermass! Oh! You are well again! You are dressed!” Segundus let out a small bark of laughter, and his face was transformed with an expression of wild joy that caused Childermass to feel warm all over.

“Yes, it appears I am,” Childermass responded, fighting back a smile at how very happy and surprised Segundus was to see him. 

“Oh Mr. Childermass! I cannot express how glad I am to see you up and about! And dressed no less! Oh! We must tell Honeyfoot and the household! It is a miracle!” Segundus tried to stand up, but in his haste, he tripped and stumbled forward. He put up his hand, intending to brace himself against Childermass’ body. Childermass tensed, expecting the contact, but it did not come. Segundus’ hand went through him as if he were made of mist, and the other man continued falling and tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. “What...what is the meaning of this?” Segundus asked, alarm coloring his voice. He levied himself up off the floor and turned to look at Childermass again. 

“I am unsure Mr. Segundus. You were falling and you put your hand out, but it did not touch me. It went...through me.” Childermass looked down at his body. It certainly looked solid enough. He pinched his own arm and it hurt him. He felt just as whole and real as he always had. 

Segundus reached out a tentative hand and attempted to touch Childermass on the shoulder, but his hand again went through Childermass as if he were made of air. “What..how..” he sounded very confused and dismayed. “Mr. Childermass...you are...an _apparition_.” Segundus said wonderingly. “But, that must mean…” his face contorted with sharp worry and he whirled and grabbed the candle from his bedside table. “Follow me!” he cried as he ran out the door of his bedroom. Childermass watched as Segundus rounded an invisible wall that was not there and entered the next room, Childermass’ room, where Honeyfoot still slept by his bedside. He turned and looked at what rested on the bed and then he understood. 

He saw his own body, pale and still, covered up with bedclothes. He stepped forward, back through the invisible wall between their rooms and up to the bed and Segundus let out a loud yelp of surprise. “You! You just walked through the wall Mr. Childermass!”

All this yelling finally woke Honeyfoot (a man who’d raised three daughters and who was quite accustomed to yelling), who lifted his head blearily and looked first at Segundus, then down at Childermass’ body on the bed. “Mr. Segundus,” he said, sounding confused “what is the meaning of all this racket. Are you well?”

“Mr. Honeyfoot! Look! It is Childermass! He has...he has… come back as a ghost!” Segundus looked as if he might soon fall down in a faint with the madness of what was transpiring, but Honeyfoot only looked concerned. 

“I do not see such a ghost. I see nothing but the poor man on the bed. Mr. Segundus, are you sure you are quite well? You have had a trying day.” Segundus waved away his concern and swiftly went to the bed to feel Childermass’ pulse. He breathed a sigh of relief and reported that Childermass did still live, even if his condition had not improved. 

“Mr. Honeyfoot!” Childermass addressed his silver haired friend. “Hello!” He waved his hand in front of Honeyfoot’s face. Honeyfoot’s expression did not change. 

“He cannot see me,” Childermass said to Segundus. 

“So, only I can see you?” Segundus asked, his voice going soft with wonder. “Why should that be?”

“Please Mr. Segundus, please.” Honeyfoot urged. “Tell me what is happening. I do not like this talk of ghosts.” His round face was full of worry and he had stood and was looking between Childermass’s silent form on bed and Segundus’ surprised expression. 

“I know just the thing,” Childermass said, suddenly struck with inspiration. “I can see through the walls of the house as if they were not there. Do not ask me why, for I have not a clue. Regardless, you and I shall go into the other room, we’ll leave both doors open so that Honeyfoot can hear you. Tell him to hold up different items in the room and I will see them for what they are and tell you and you may relay the information to him. There is no way a person could know this unless they could see through walls...which… I can do quite easily. It seems a skill that comes with being a ghost.” 

“Oh Mr. Childermass! That is a genius idea!” Segundus swiftly explained to Honeyfoot that Childermass’ ghost was there with him and the plan to prove it, and Honeyfoot looked concerned for Segundus’ sanity, but he agreed that he would try. 

Segundus and Childermass went quickly to the next room and Segundus called to Honeyfoot to pick up the first object. Childermass saw Honeyfoot pick up the piece of soap by the wash basin and hold it aloft. He told Segundus what it was and Segundus yelled “Soap!” Honeyfoot looked impressed, then immediately went to pick up one of Childermass’ large, black boots from the corner of the room and held that up. 

“He says to get your hands off his boot!” Segundus yelled.

Honeyfoot was at that point convinced. Segundus and Childermass rejoined him in Childermass’ room. At this point, the yelling had woken up a few of the household staff and Mrs. Lennox, who came running to see what was the matter. The whole confusing affair was too much to relay now, at god-knew what hour of the morning or night it was, and so Segundus told the servants, and a very sleepy and concerned Mrs. Lennox that he had had a strange nightmare and had called out in his sleep, but not to worry and he would be fine now. They all went back to bed, and Segundus and Honeyfoot (and Childermass by consensus) agreed that they would do no more yelling or running about that night. 

“You should get to bed Mr. Honeyfoot. Since I am the only one who can see and hear Mr. Childermass, we will talk quietly in this room for a time and then I will catch you up on the morrow.” Honeyfoot nodded and went to his usual bed in a room on the first floor, and Childermass and Segundus remained in Childermass’ room to talk.

  
  


“Do you feel any pain?” Segundus asked. “Can you feel the pain of your injury?.” Childermass shook his head and Segundus looked relieved. “What _are_ you feeling Mr. Childermass? Can you feel cold? Heat? Are you hungry or thirsty? Is there something of the needs of the flesh that you can still detect?”

Childermass shrugged. “I feel comfortable and not hungry. Not cold nor hot either. I feel quite...normal.” he said. "And it appears unfortunately that being shot has become a habit for me," he added with a wry grin.

“This is very strange,” Segundus replied, his brow furrowed in thought. “How could this be? You are still living, and yet you are also here as an apparition. You certainly look solid enough.” 

“Yes, I feel solid as well. To myself that is, though you apparently cannot touch me.” 

Segundus nodded gravely at this. Suddenly he seemed struck by a revelation. “The resurrection spell!” he said. “The one we discussed at dinner. _A treatise On Spells_ by Jacob Wurlingate! Would that apply to this situation? It does seem that your, erm...soul has left your body somehow. Might we return it...return you to health through the means of some magic?”

Childermass shrugged again. “It could work. Or perhaps there will be something else in the books that will help me recover. It is worth trying.” 

Segundus nodded swiftly. “I’ll be back in just a moment,” and then he was out the door and down the hall to the stairs. Childermass waited patiently for him to return. 

Segundus returned, with the book in question gripped in his hands. He had obviously run the whole way down to the library and back, because he was out of breath and quite flushed. They placed the book on the bed next to Childermass’ earthly body, and Segundus flipped it open to the chapter on the spell for resurrection. It turned out to be quite complicated and involved, which caused Segundus to frown. He expressed his concern to Childermass that he was by no means an accomplished magician and that he hoped that perhaps Childermass could help guide him in this. Childermass replied that he would do his best. 

It appeared that the spell needed to be repeated, with additional parts added each night for seven nights if the deceased were to be brought back to life. They both agreed that this was a daunting task, but that, with careful planning and practice, it could be done. 

“There is only one problem with this spell,” Childermass said, not wanting to put out the flame of hope that so clearly burned inside his friend upon the finding of the spell of resurrection. 

“And what is that?” Segundus asked a little absently as he continued poring over the book in front of them on the bed. 

“I am not dead,” Childermass replied. 

They both then looked over at Childermass’ body on the bed and both noticed that his chest was no longer rising and falling in the gentle way it had been only an hour before. Segundus rushed to feel for Childermass’ pulse, while Childermass himself watched from the side of the bed. Segundus waited for a moment, fingers pressed to the neck of the pale figure, and when he looked up at Childermass again, he wore an expression Childermass had never seen before. The smaller man looked as if all the blood had fled his face and his eyes echoed with a sharp sort of anguish. “You are dead now sir,” Segundus said, his voice gone all queer and hollow. 

At that very moment, the first rays of the morning sun breached the sill of Childermass’ bedroom window and the world went white. 


	5. The First Night

A shaft of sunlight lanced into the room and hit the ghost of Childermass and he disappeared, fading away like an errant puff of smoke. Segundus cried out and reached toward the space where Childermass had just been with a stab of fear, but he was too late. Childermass was gone. And the solid, flesh and blood Childermass on the bed was as still and lifeless as a stone. 

Before he could lose himself to fear, Segundus had the wherewithal to move his hands and mutter the words of a spell of preservation. It was a spell done usually to preserve fresh meat in the heat of summer, and though he felt a little disrespectful casting the same spell to preserve a dear friend that he would to keep the maggots off of a good cut of beefsteak, Segundus said the words and made the motions quickly. 

It was only then that he allowed himself a little time for panic. And panic he did. Childermass was gone. Gone! His apparition had melted away like mist under the onslaught of the gentle rays of morning sunshine through the window, and his body, his poor body, lay cold and white upon the bed. Segundus’ pulse was racing and tears threatened to return to his eyes at the hopelessness of the situation. 

He checked Childermass’ pulse again, just to be certain, and after waiting a full minute with his fingers pressed to the side of the man’s neck, and then another full minute feeling for a pulse at his wrist, he felt nothing. No breath stole in and out of Childermass’ lungs and he lay still and silent. What to do? What to  _ do _ ? Segundus gasped then as he remembered the spell and rushed to grab the book that still lay open upon Childermass’ bed. 

The spell’s instructions clearly specified that it was to be enacted under the cover of darkness, and that it should be repeated over the course of seven nights, and that it would increase in detail and intricacy as the nights progressed. This was due in large part to the author’s belief that such dark and ancient magic was aligned with the fairy-folk’s love of the number seven. Not only fairies, but the religions of the world of men had often looked upon the number seven as being the most holy and mystical of numbers. There were seven days in the week, seven Chakras in the religions of the east. Seven stars made up the  Pleiades, (also known as the Seven Sisters).  There were seven gates through which a soul must pass in order to enter the kingdom of heaven in at least three obscure religions Mr. Segundus could recall offhand. 

The determination to study and enact the spell became as a floating log in a raging river for Segundus to cling to in the wake of Childermass’ demise. If he could only do the magic perfectly, if he could only bring Childermass back to life, all would be well. It was a hope he clung to to keep from being dragged beneath the waters of grief. And he did grieve. He was full of fear and sadness and confusion. Childermass, dear Childermass, who only yesterday had been awake and warm and full of life was now lying cold and still upon the bed in his room, lifeless as a fallen tree branch. What if Segundus could never see his smile again? What if they could never again bend their heads over books of magic in the library? Would he never again see Childermass’ gruff face across from him at the kitchen table? These thoughts caused much fear and anguish to rise up inside Segundus, and he had to sit down for a moment on the chair by the bed and fight back tears for a second time. It would not do to break down weeping at a time like this, and so he took a few deep, bolstering breaths and went back to his own room to wash and dress for the day. 

When he was presentable, he went downstairs in search of Mr. Honeyfoot. He found the man at the breakfast table, eating gruel and drinking tea and talking with Vinculus.  _ Oh, Vinculus, _ Segundus thought with dismay. He did not know his Reader was dead. He wondered worriedly if Vinculus would be beset upon by grief. He did not appear to be a person that felt things all that dramatically, but still, he must have grown fond of Childermass over the long months they’d spent traveling together. Segundus himself could not imagine anyone not being fond of Childermass upon getting to know him better, but perhaps he was unduly biased. 

He sat with the two of them, and after realizing that they were not alone, (there were a handful of kitchen servants nearby and a student lounging at the far end of the kitchen table) he asked if perhaps Honeyfoot and Vinculus might meet him out in the garden for a private talk. Honeyfoot, seeing how pale and concerned Segundus was, asked if everything was alright. Segundus could not answer that question with any degree of honesty. Things were wrong, but also, there was hope. He said he would tell them all about it when they met in the garden. 

Honeyfoot swiftly finished his tea and Vinculus, rather than abandon the sausage he had been eating, simply took it with him out the back door and into the garden, where the three men stood close to one another. Segundus relayed that poor Childermass was now dead, and was shocked when Vinculus let out a loud chuckle around his mouthful of sausage. 

“Of course he is! That scoundrel. He never can stay in one place for long can he?” Vinculus cackled like a hyena and did a little dance on the lawn, much to the surprise and consternation of Mr. Honeyfoot. 

“Your friend is dead sir!” Honeyfoot scolded him. “Have you no decency for the recently deceased!”

“No, I do not.” Replied Vinculus simply and with a toothy smile, “I myself was deceased for a time, and yet here I am. I have no doubt that this one,” here he nodded his bedraggled head at Segundus, “will find a way to remedy the situation. He is so very invested is he not?” 

Honeyfoot looked confused by this last statement and Segundus felt himself go hot under his collar. He quickly spoke back up to distract Honeyfoot from Vinculus’ embarrassingly apt words. “Vinculus is correct,” he said. “I have found a spell of resurrection in  _ A Treatise On Spells _ and while it is complex and very specific (and likely very difficult to enact) I feel I must attempt it.” Mr. Honeyfoot nodded sagely in agreement and asked if he could help. 

“I do not think that will be necessary,” Segundus replied. “I have seen no instructions mentioning the use of two magicians for the spell, and if it is to be successful, I will need to follow it to the letter. Otherwise, we may lose poor Childermass forever.” 

Vinculus grinned like a Jack-o-Lantern. “You’d look quite pale and small in mourning black,” he remarked to Segundus, who was, all of a sudden not pale at all, but bright pink. Did the man realize the meaning behind his words? How did he know of Segundus’ secret heart? Vinculus, for all that his magic tricks were pure fiction and flash, did seem to have an uncanny ability to suss out the hidden meanings and prophetic currents in the world around him. Luckily, these sly statements appeared to pass over Honeyfoot’s head. The man was lost in thought and seemed not to have noticed Vinculus’ impertinence. 

“Why was he down by the forest’s edge in the first place?” Honeyfoot asked, and Segundus paused, realizing that he did not know the answer to that question. He had been so beset upon by grief and fear, with Childermass’ bloody hand clasped in his, watching the man’s life leak out of him in the darkness that he’d failed to do much more than the casting of frantic spells. 

Childermass had said one thing though. “He told me that he’d had a dream, and that he thought he’d heard a voice calling his name. He...he said there was a man. But he could not elaborate further. It was clearly a fairy that shot him, as we all heard the arrow scream as it burnt in the fire. I am certain of it. No mortal man would possess such a horrible weapon, and the woods are known for fairy roads and fairy enchantments.”

“Well then sir,” replied Honeyfoot. “Perhaps if you wish to work on the resurrection spell on your own, you will allow me to arrange for the execution of Walter De Chepe’s Prophylaxis? To guard Starecross from further intrusion from fairy guests?”

Segundus nodded. “Yes, please Mr. Honeyfoot. That would be most prudent and helpful.”

After some more brief discussion of what to do moving forward, the three men parted ways. Segundus went to the library to research the casting of the resurrection spell from Wurlingate’s book, Honeyfoot to go find Purfois and Levy to see if they could aid him in the casting of Prophylaxis. and Vinculus to god only knew where. 

Segundus spent the entirety of the day reading about the particulars of the spell he would enact at nightfall and worrying over the state of Childermass’ soul. He’d gratefully handed off the execution of the week’s classwork to the other instructors as he knew he would need all of his spare time to learn the intricate elements of the spell. He and Honeyfoot decided to inform the staff, teachers and students that Childermass was gravely ill, rather than that he was already dead. They had no time to handle the answering of the great many questions that would likely result should they tell everyone that they were attempting to raise the man from the dead.

For his part, Segundus focused all of his energy upon learning the spell and practicing it over and over. He daren’t miss a single movement or exclude a single element, for to do so would risk the loss of his dearest friend. 

_ His dearest friend _ . Yes, although the thought of Childermass being the most important person to him made Segundus feel uncomfortable, he could not deny that it was the truth. His regard and affection for Childermass had only grown with their closer association. The fondness he now felt for the rough man in the black coat had blossomed into a flame of deep and abiding affection over the past year. This affection at times threatened to overwhelm Segundus’ good sense. He had never before felt such incredible fondness for another human being. Yes, he loved Mr. Honeyfoot. The older man made a pleasing and enjoyable companion, and they both adored the study and execution of magic. But the feelings he held in his heart for Honeyfoot were decidedly brotherly. Warm and affectionate yes, but it was the affection of siblings, or of a nephew toward a beloved uncle. 

His feelings for Childermass however went in quite a different direction. After Childermass had started coming to stay at Starecross Hall for a few weeks at a stretch in between his travels with Vinculus, Segundus had become aware of a strong urge to be in his company as much as possible. And when Childermass went away, the world grew a little grayer and less colorful. The thought of losing him forever made Segundus’ heart feel lanced through with shards of ice. It was something he was uncertain he could bear. 

And so he redoubled his efforts to memorize the words and motions and elements of the resurrection spell and offered up many fervent prayers that it would work. He studied all day, until the evening and by the time the sun had started to dip below the horizon and the sky had turned all golden-orange and bright pink, his eyes were stinging and he had a sharp crick in his neck from spending all day reading and rereading the first of the seven spells. 

The book had been quite explicit that the spell should be enacted at the stroke of midnight each night and so Segundus lay down to get a few hours of sleep, exacting a firm promise from Honeyfoot to wake him at quarter to twelve. He slept fitfully, haunted by images of Childermass’ pale face and blood stained nightdress and he did much tossing and turning before Honeyfoot came to shake him awake. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all, but it was of no matter. The spell was the most important thing, not Segundus’ ability to take a restful nap. 

He opened the book and arranged the animal bones, dried flowers and small pot of honey that the first night’s spell required on the small writing table in Childermass’ room. The moment he heard the first bell of the grandfather clock in the hallway toll midnight, he began the incantations. The wording was quite precise and the cadence had to be gotten just right, but Segundus was steadfast and he spoke it all as perfectly as he could. 

Upon speaking the last of the words, he dipped his finger into the honey pot and dabbed a bit of it on his forehead, just as the book had instructed him to, and then he made the final motions with his hands and stopped, waiting while looking anxiously at the still form of Childermass’ body. 

He swiftly noticed a gleaming point of light appear above Childermass’ chest on the bed. It turned and gleamed more brightly for a moment, like a tiny star, and then resolved itself into the shape of Childermass himself, who stood, fully dressed in his usual clothing beside the bed. The image of Childermass, at first quite hazy, soon became less and less opaque and more and more solid until he looked just as he did in life. He turned his head and saw Segundus and smiled and Segundus felt his heart leap inside his chest. 

“Oh Mr. Childermass! Welcome back!” Segundus exclaimed, then, remembering that the household was likely asleep, he resolved himself to speak more softly. “I am delighted that you’ve returned. I thought for certain that we had lost all trace of you.” He rose cautiously and took a step closer to Childermass, marveling at how real the man’s ghost appeared in the candlelit room.

Childermass felt about himself with his hands, as if to test that his body was solid and whole. “I’ve had such a strange dream,” he said, sounding a bit distracted. “I was in a dark wood and I saw a  _ Brugh _ , a fairy mound, and I was about to enter when you called me back to wakefulness. Am I still dead?” It was a strange question for a man to ask, but under the present circumstances, neither of them found it unusual. 

“Sadly you are,” Segundus replied with a frown. “I have been studying the resurrection spell we looked at together the other day in hopes of bringing you fully back into the land of the living.”

“Have you now?” Asked the ghost of Childermass. “That is quite a lot of trouble to go through.”

Segundus flushed. “Not at all!” he replied. “I would not let you sink into death if there were any way to stop it.”

“I am flattered,” replied Childermass. “I thought for certain that I was gone for good out there at the edge of the forest. I feared I’d never see you again. I am glad that I was mistaken.” He smiled a second time at Segundus. A warm smile that echoed in his dark eyes and Segundus had to look away swiftly, his cheeks heating further than they had moments ago. Childermass had never been so forward and affectionate as this in life. There was something different about him now. 

“Yes, I feared that I’d never see you again either,” Segundus said to his hands, where they lay folded in his lap, feeling his face grow impossibly hotter. “Out there by the forest, and...and also, this morning, when you disappeared, I thought all was lost.”

“I disappeared did I?” Childermass asked

“Yes!” piped up Segundus, eager for a change of conversation. “The moment the morning sun struck you, you evaporated! I was uncertain if you would ever return again, or if I’d be forced to keep company with your corpse alone.” He smiled shyly as he dared to glance back up at Childermass’ face and found that he too was smiling. 

“One would hope that I make a better conversationalist than a dead body,” he remarked with his familiar cynical tone and Segundus grinned foolishly back at him for a moment before a thought struck him. 

“I am now wondering if your...erm...forgive me, but there is no better word for it. If your  _ ghost _ must be struck directly with the morning sun in order to dissipate? Or could we simply have you stand in the shadows and thereby prevent you from disappearing?”

“That is a good question,” Childermass looked thoughtful. “Perhaps this morning we can test your theory. I shall stand in a dark corner of the room and we shall see if I can remain if the rays of the sun do not touch me, or if it simply the rising of the sun regardless of whether or not I stand in it’s light that has the power to... banish me...as it were.” 

“That is an excellent plan!” Segundus said.

Childermass walked over to where his body lay on the bed and looked down at it, seeming to scrutinize his own face for a silent moment. “How is it that I have not started to...smell? Or to look more gruesome than I do?” he asked Segundus.

“Oh,” Segundus ducked his head in minor embarrassment. “I did not want you to erm… rot, and so I did a spell to preserve you.”

“Did you do the one the housewives have taken to using to preserve meat? Lancaster’s Spell of Preservation?” Childermass asked, clearly amused.

“Yes, and I am sorry. I did not know what to do and feared that you would grow quite pungent if I did not act.” Segundus shrugged sheepishly and cast a glance in Childermass’ direction, but Childermass only chuckled warmly. 

“You did well,” he responded, looking back down at his body on the bed. “If only you could find a spell to improve my ugly face, then that would be something.”   
  


“Oh! You are not ugly at all Mr. Childermass! Quite the opposite.” Segundus spoke without thinking, then, seeing the surprised look on Childermass’ face upon hearing his words, he began to stammer. “That is...that is...that you do not look fearsome or rough. You look quite peaceful and death has not harmed your countenance… that is all I meant to say.”

Childermass luckily did not follow up with another remark, he instead smiled his one sided smile and stepped over to look at the various accoutrement of Segundus’ spell casting. “Is this the spell we spoke of only the other night at supper?” he asked, and Segundus nodded. 

“It is quite complex, and it is to be repeated, with increased complexity for each night for seven nights before you are to be returned to the bloom of life. That is...if I can cast it correctly, and if nothing goes awry. I am concerned that it did not mention preserving your flesh as part of this process, but perhaps Wurlingate assumed the accomplished magician would think of such a thing? Either way, I have dedicated myself to completing it” 

“I have faith that you will succeed,” Childermass replied. Then he looked at Segundus questioningly. “What is that shining spot on your brow? Beezwax?”

Segundus had forgotten completely about the dab of honey, and self consciously reached up to touch it, which of course made his finger sticky. “It is honey,” he said with a self conscious sigh. “The spell required that I anoint my forehead with it. Strange, but apparently effective.” He then stuck his finger in his mouth, in order to suck the sweet honey off of it. Childermass’ eyes followed this action and his gaze came to rest quite blatantly on Segundus’ mouth. Segundus felt himself grow hot yet again and yanked his finger from his mouth and hurriedly turned away, hoping to hide his blush. 

“The spell involves all manner of strange actions,” he said quickly, turning to look down at the assemblage of various objects on Childermass’ writing desk. “I dare say I was busy most of the day committing them to memory. I would honestly much rather that the roles be reversed and that it was _ you _ who was tasked with bringing  _ me _ back from the dead, rather than the other way round. This is a job for a far more accomplished magician than myself.” 

“On the contrary,” Childermass replied. “I think you will likely do a very good job of it. Perhaps I can help you study and practice for tomorrow night?”

Segundus replied that this would be very much appreciated and the two of them spent quite a bit of time pouring over the next night’s requirements. They dared not look ahead to the instructions for any nights further on in the list of seven spells, for fear that they would get confused and mix up what needed to be done. The next night’s spell called for more honey, this time anointing Segundus’ left wrist, and bird feathers and a cup of wine that he was to dip the feather in as if it were a quill pen and write Childermass’ name three times. Not just his surname, but his full name. And then there was a complex pattern of hand movements that Childermass watched Segundus do over and over until he pronounced him perfect at it. 

Soon, they could hear the clock strike four, and Childermass asked Segundus (who had begun to yawn and list a bit in his chair,) if perhaps he might like to lie down and sleep. 

“Oh no, I do not need to rest,” Segundus responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I will sleep once you are gone.” What he’d truly wanted to say was ‘I dare not miss a moment of your company’, but he couldn’t very well say that. Childermass shrugged and they continued to work, which soon devolved into chatting about the state of the Hall in Childermass’ absence. 

Childermass confirmed that it was indeed a fairy who had shot him with the arrow, and Segundus told him of how Honeyfoot was planning on using Prophylaxis to guard Starecross’ grounds from fairy mischief, Childermass nodded in agreement and said he approved of the plan. He told Segundus all the details he could remember of the fairy who had shot him, and Segundus promised to look into all the books they possessed on fairy lore to see if he could be identified, and what his motive might be for having killed Childermass. Fairies did not always need to have a reason to commit murder, being that they were barely clinging to sanity on the best of occasions, but perhaps if this particular one hated Childermass for some special reason, they would find out what, if anything he planned to do next. 

Before they knew it, the gray light of the approaching dawn had turned Childermass’ bedroom windows from black squares to showing the dim outlines of the trees and bushes of the Hall’s grounds. “The sun will be rising soon. You should wait in the darkest corner so as to test our theory,” Segundus said, and Childermass went obediently and stood in the corner farthest from the window. To further ensure that he was not touched by the sun, Segundus readied a cloak so that he could hold it up and shield Childermass from the light. 

“If this does not work Mr. Childermass, then I can only hope that tonight’s incantations go well and that we shall see one another again soon.” He did not tell Childermass that his heart ached with the possibility that Childermass’ ghost would not return.

“Yes, we shall meet again after midnight. I am sure of it,” Childermass smiled reassuringly at him, again behaving in a way far softer than he had previously. He had never been rude or rough exactly, with the minor exception of the time he’d come to insist that Segundus stop the creation of the school, but neither had he bestowed this many fond smiles upon Segundus. He had never used quite this soft a tone nor had his eyes lingered on Segundus’ face in this way before. Segundus swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. 

“If hiding you from the rays of the sun does in fact work,” he said ruefully, “you will be confined to this corner for the next many hours, and I feel you shall be quite bored.” 

“Not if I have you to talk to,” Childermass responded with a small grin. Segundus was unsure how many times he would be pushed into blushing this evening by something Childermass said, but he feared that his face had gone quite pink at Childermass’ kind reassurance. 

Before he could think of what to say in response, the first yellow beams of morning light broke through the window, and Segundus had just enough time to turn and raise the cloak to shield Childermass from their questing fingers. But… even though the cloak should have hidden Childermass’ ghost from direct contact with the light from the window, he faded and disappeared nonetheless. Segundus dropped the cloak and sighed in disappointment before heading to bed for a few hours of sleep. 


	6. The Second Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a little Stephen Black fix it fic in this chapter

Childermass was standing in a moonlit wood. It was by now a familiar sight, as he seemed to return here whenever he was not called to reappear in his room at Starecross Hall. At first, the wood had seemed dreamlike, but it had grown more and more lucid and more real with each revisit. He had gone there once after being shot, then a second time when he had died, and now, here he was a third time.

The silvery trunks of endless trees rose up before him, their branches, laden with dark leaves, brushed the night sky far above his head, as if they were reaching in vain to touch the stars. There was a faint and ghostly music floating through the air, and the smell of oranges and chocolate, faint and pleasant, that assailed Childermass’ nostrils. In and among the trees were several mounds of grassy earth, the size of large houses with dark doorways set in the faces of them, and it was toward the largest of these that Childermass felt compelled to walk. 

He soon came to the dark door, which as he drew closer had grown in size, until it towered above him. A dim light issued from inside it and a path, paved in opalescent stones led off down a long hallway toward the light. Childermass walked down the pathway, noting that the light grew brighter, the music grew louder and the smell of oranges and chocolate and other delightful fragrances grew stronger as he went. Soon, he rounded a corner and was confronted with a busy dining hall. A long oaken table was covered with a fine, white linen cloth, set with many fine china plates, and lovely vases of flowers were placed at intervals all down its length. Seated at the table were a motley crew of creatures. Humans (or at least people who looked like men and women of human descent) of all types, shapes, sizes and colors were seated next to large, striped cats dressed in waistcoats and parrots the size of men in velvet capes. Piskies and goblins, trolls and elves, all bedecked in what must have been their finest clothes, in ribbons and silks and sparkling baubles, all sat and chatted and ate together. It was a large profusion of creatures, and all of them seemed to be speaking at once, though quite amiably, to their companions. None seemed to notice the differences between them of shape and species and color, and there were no harsh words spoken.

Childermass could only stand and stare, being that this was a sight he had never contemplated seeing, even though he had lived a long life, full of magic and adventure. His eyes traveled up the length of the table and alighted upon the two people seated at it’s head. A man with dark skin in a fine black suit sat with a circlet of silver at his brow. Beside him sat a beautiful pale woman with soft brown curls in a red velvet gown. They were, even from this distance, quite obviously and quite deeply enamored of each other. The black gentleman was telling some sort of story to his dinner companion and she was gazing at him with such rapturous affection that Childermass almost felt as if he should avert his eyes in order to allow them some privacy. The man would pause in his speaking every now and then to pluck a berry or a piece of chocolate or a sugared violet from the profusion of food in front of them and offer it to his lady, and she would accept his little gifts by eating from his fingers and then bestow upon him warm smiles and soft glances. 

These must be the lord and lady who governed this brugh. Something about the black gentleman tugged at Childermass’ memory, but where he had seen the man before he could not quite recall. As if hearing Childermass’ thoughts, the man turned his large brown eyes in Childermass’ direction and smiled a brilliant white smile. “Ah! Mr. Childermass!” he exclaimed. “It is good to see you again. Please, won’t you come join my lady wife and I for dinner.”

Upon saying this, the black gentleman rose and came around the table to greet Childermass. Childermass felt compelled to bow before such a regal and beneficent personage and so he did, bowing his head in deference. Upon straightening again, the man grasped Childermass by both of his forearms and gave them a companionable squeeze. “I am very pleased that you could join us Mr. Childermass,” he said through another brilliant smile. “Though if you are visiting us here at our merry feast, I fear it does not bode for the state of your human soul.” The man’s cheerful face dropped momentarily into a look of worry. 

“Indeed sir,” Childermass replied, smiling back, as the man’s warm and welcoming manner was infectious. “It appears that I am dead.” 

“Oh, that is a shame. I am sorry to hear it.” The man replied. “I hope it was not too painful.” 

“It was unfortunately quite painful,” Childermass admitted. “But I have a friend, a fellow magician who is working to reverse my condition and bring me back to life through magic.”

“Ah yes. You magicians always think everything can be solved by magic,” the man said, not unkindly, with a sly twist in his smile. “Won’t you come and join us and have something good to eat?”

“I would be glad to sir, only I have an appointment to keep. I must meet my friend at midnight, and I have a feeling that time is nearly upon us.” Indeed, it seemed as if time in this place moved strangely. Childermass knew that he had only just left Segundus, but also that he would not have much time to spend in this enchanted hall before midnight struck again.

The gentleman, (or perhaps he was a prince or a king? With his silver circlet and his handsome face and fine suit, he had about him the look of royalty) smiled again and nodded. “Yes, midnight approaches and I would not want you to be late. Perhaps you can return tomorrow to join us in our revels?”

“I would like that very much sir,” Childermass reached out to shake the man’s hand but found that his own was fading, becoming translucent. “It appears I am being called,” he said. “Before I leave though, may I ask your name? You seem very familiar to me.”

“Ah,” the black gentleman said. “You may have seen me at my old master’s house. His name was Sir Walter Pole, and I was once his butler, Stephen Black.”

Childermass had but a moment to feel surprised at this news before Stephen Black, the hall with the lovely creatures and Stephen’s pretty wife in the red velvet dress faded before his eyes, and he saw the familiar sight of his room in Starecross Hall take shape and become solid in their place. 

He looked over and saw Mr. Segundus, standing by Childermass’ writing table, the resurrection spell open in front of him, looking very relieved indeed. “Hello Mr. Childermass!” He piped cheerily. “Good evening!”

Childermass smiled and felt warm affection bloom behind his breastbone. It was so very good to see Segundus’ happy face again. The fairy brugh had been beautiful and welcoming, but there was nothing quite like being greeted by a beloved friend in one’s own familiar room to lighten the worries and concerns of being a homeless ghost. 

Segundus took a hesitant step toward him, almost seeming as if he would try to reach out and touch him, and suddenly, Childermass was gripped with the strongest urge to go to him and embrace him. He could not, for he had no earthly substance, and on top of that, he could not, for they were both men, and on top of _that_ , he was unsure if Segundus would submit himself to being embraced. But that did not change Childermass’ desire to do so. Instead however, he simply smiled warmly again. “Good evening to you as well Mr. Segundus,” he replied. “I presume that the spell for the second night worked adequately?”

“Oh yes! And I am ever so glad that it did. It was a more difficult spell than last night’s, and there were a few times I thought I had misspoken, or mishandled the movements you helped me practice, but...here you are!” He took another hesitant step forward, and Childermass did the same, and soon they were standing quite close. It would be right and proper for Childermass to step away, ghost or no, but he had no wish to do so, and for a moment or two, they simply stared at one another, smiling. 

“Did Honeyfoot manage to cast Prophylaxis?” Childermass asked, knowing he must say something and not stand, grinning like a fool for much longer. 

Segundus shook himself a little as if waking from a doze, “He did indeed. And we have had Levy and Purfois set wards about the edge of the forest as well to provide us with double the protection against fairy mischief. It is my hope that Starecross and its inhabitants will not be forced to deal with any more strife.”

“That is good news,” Childermass said. “Would you like help with the learning of the spell for tomorrow night?” Segundus nodded enthusiastically and so they settled in to study together. The spell for the third night was even more complex than the one Segundus had just cast. It required even more accoutrements and even more elaborate hand motions, and this time, a dab of honey on Segundus’ left wrist instead of his right. Neither of them were sure what the honey signified, but they made careful note of it anyway. 

As dawn approached, they fell again to talking of things that did not have to do with magic. Segundus relayed that Vinculus was not at all upset by Childermass’ passing and Childermass responded that he was not surprised by this. Vinculus seemed to see people quite outside of the normal, sequential passage of time, and instead looked at them as an amalgam of their pasts, presents and futures. This gave him an expansive, airy way of relating to everything, that could come across quite jarring to the average person. 

“He seemed confident that you would be returned to life with no trouble. Or at least, he seemed to expect you to return, as if you had just taken a trip to York,” Segundus said.

“And is he behaving in my absence?” Childermass asked.

“Yes. He disappears for much of the day and mostly shews his face when mealtimes are announced or when there is beer or port or brandy around for the drinking.”

Childermass smiled. “Yes. That is my book. He is a stray cat.”

Segundus giggled at this description. “We have told everyone that you are gravely ill and that since it is a magical illness that I will be the only one to attend to you. Honeyfoot and I thought it best not to let them know you had… expired. It would be too gruesome for them to think of a corpse in the house.”

Childermass nodded. “That was wise. And I suppose if this spell does not work, you will simply tell them that you could not nurse me back to health and that I died of my wound, only later than they suspected?” He did not realize that he had said something upsetting until he saw Segundus’ face crumple slightly and saw him drop his eyes to the book between them.

“It will work,” Segundus said softly. “I know that I am not the best of magicians, and that I sometimes struggle with the execution of spells of this nature, but I promise you Childermass. It _will_ work. Or I shall wear myself out trying.”

Oh how Childermass longed to reach out and place his hand over Segundus’ hand, or to put his hand on Segundus’ shoulder to reassure him. “I meant no disrespect to your skills as a magician,” he said instead. 

“I know you did not,” Segundus replied. “You have been very supportive of me in my magical education and in the starting up of the school, and for that, I am eternally grateful.” He looked back up then and their eyes met and Childermass felt a warm flutter stir in the pit of his stomach at the earnestness and affection he could see in their dark depths. He wondered how for most of the last year that he’d been in close communication with Mr. Segundus that he had never touched him, and now, now that he wanted to do so quite badly, he could not. Wasted opportunities. His current condition of formlessness was swiftly wearing away his resolve to keep a careful distance from the small, pale, dark haired man who sat at his side. 

As he boldly continued to hold Segundus’ gaze, he noticed that there were dark circles gathering under the other man’s eyes, and that he seemed even paler and more strained than usual. “You have not been sleeping well,” he said, and it was not a question.

Segundus looked away again, and ran a self conscious hand through his mussed, dark hair. “No, I have not. The spells take up much of my time, and I find that my sleep is fitful and full of bad dreams.”

“You must sleep, and eat and rest more Mr. Segundus,” Childermass, aching to put a reassuring hand on Segundus’ slim back, instead strove to imbue his tone with as much care and concern as he could. “It will do us no good if you are to fall down in a faint during the execution of one of these spells.” 

“I know. I know. I have never been good at eating and sleeping,” Segundus chuckled softly. “Not when there are so many books to read and new things to learn. And certainly not now when my dear-” he stopped himself quite suddenly from continuing and Childermass felt a thrill lance through him. Had Segundus meant to call Childermass dear? A dear friend? He must have. Segundus soldiered on with speaking, his ears going pink and his cheeks flushing as he did so. “What I meant to say is that I will endeavor to get more rest today. Unfortunately, this third spell is even more complex than the last two. But I shall persevere!”

“Yes, see that you get some sleep and some good, hot food. For my sake,” Childermass made his voice very soft and very kind, hoping to convey a small amount of the affection and worry he felt for his friend. Segundus looked up again, and at that moment, the sunlight lanced in and the room at Starecross, Segundus next to him, all was made white and disappeared.


	7. Man And Ghost And Corpse

Mr. Segundus was indeed tired. He had spent the past two nights sitting up and talking from midnight until dawn, practicing the resurrection spell with Childermass (or rather Childermass’ ghost, though it looked and sounded and moved exactly like Childermass the living.) When dawn broke, he would retire for a few fitful hours of sleep, from perhaps six in the morning until nine or ten, but always, he was plagued by disturbing dreams and frightful imaginings of what would happen were he unable to commit the spell to memory perfectly for the night to come. After his short nap, he would wash and dress and go down to the kitchen for some breakfast, and then it was back to Childermass’ room to go over the evening’s spell again and again until he felt it was close to perfect. Once or twice a day, he also reinstated the spell to preserve Childermass’ body so that it retained its freshness and wholeness and did not rot. Honeyfoot would sometimes accompany him and hear news of what Childermass had said or done in the early morning hours, but Segundus of course omitted telling him about the more tender and personal aspects of their conversations together. 

In this way, the third, fourth and fifth nights passed, mostly without incident. Despite the grueling pace of study and practice, his early morning conversations with Childermass only grew more and more fond and more and more affectionate. Many were the smiles Childermass bestowed upon Mr. Segundus, and many were the smiles, soft and lingering that Segundus returned to him. They had never worked so closely together for such a sustained and constant period of time, and Segundus grew to know more and more about his once dark and mysterious friend. 

He heard Childermass tell of his time as a pickpocket and all the tricks he employed in nicking valuables from the fine lords and ladies at the market and the theater and even at church! And also of Childermass’ time out on a boat as a sailor and the trouble he had got himself up to during the long years spent in Norrell’s employ. Segundus was quite tickled by the story of how Childermass had charmed each of Vinculus’ five wives to try and discover the location of his mysterious book. These stories should have caused Segundus’ disapproval, but he found that instead of judging Childermass’ actions harshly, he derived something of a thrill to hear of his adventures as a boy and a young man. 

In turn, Segundus told Childermass of his own history. His childhood, during which he had almost died of the croups, and of how he had always been bookish and quiet. He told of how he’d first found mention of old English magic in a book he bought at a fair, and how he’d become instantly consumed with the desire to know all he could on the subject. Childermass listened to his stories with eager attention, which made Segundus blush furiously whenever they happened to look at each other, to the point where Segundus took to keeping his eyes trained downward so as not to betray his shameful inner thoughts. 

Childermass also told him of meeting with and speaking to Sir Walter Pole’s butler, Stephen Black. Mr. Segundus had met Mr. Black when he had delivered Lady Pole into he and Mr. Honeyfoot’s care the previous year, and thought him to be a very virtuous and kind sort of person, and Childermass heartily agreed. He told of how Mr. Black appeared, through some confusing turn of events, to now be the new King of some of the lands of fairy. Childermass confessed to be unsure if their nightly visits together were a dream, or whether he really did dine and converse with Stephen and his wife under the earth in an enchanted fairy brugh, but he said their discussions were always enlivening and refreshing. Segundus was glad to hear that Childermass spent the hours that they were apart in pleasant company. 

Segundus and Honeyfoot had spent some time looking for the identity of the fairy who had shot and killed Childermass. After much digging (mostly done by Honeyfoot as Segundus was continually busy with the resurrection), they thought that the fairy might be the same as one referred to in several texts as ‘Wicked Andrew’, who was known for having long dark hair and clothing bedecked with jewels and who had been rumored to be quite vindictive. This brought them no closer to understanding why such a creature would seek to murder their friend and collegue, but at least it was a start.

Childermass was worried over Segundus’ health, and each night, he would make mention that Segundus looked pale and tired and that spell be damned, he should endeavor to get more sleep and more rest, more food and drink. His concern was warming to Segundus, but Segundus insisted that they would both be better served by Segundus simply pressing onward with as much focus paid to the execution of the resurrection spell as possible. 

On the morning after the fifth night, they happened to both be contemplating the state of Childermass’ body. “I could probably do with a wash,” Childermass mentioned idly. “I have been lying dead for several days and I would hate to wake smelling of a gutter outside an abattoir.” 

“Oh! If it is a wash you desire Mr. Childermass, then I should be happy to oblige!” Mr. Segundus offered enthusiastically. “I agree that we have neglected your poor body in the process of attempting to save your soul. I will go now and heat some water on the hearth and we shall wash you up straight away!”

Childermass tried to tell Mr. Segundus not to go, that it was too much trouble, but Segundus fled the room before he could manage it and rushed down to the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with a basin of hot water and some fresh towels and set about washing Childermass. He rubbed a hot, wet towel through Childermass’ long, lank hair until it was clean, then set about washing his arms and his chest, then awkwardly tipping him on his side to scrub at his back. It was not easy, as Childermass was quite a dense and heavy person compared with Mr. Segundus’ slight frame, but he managed well enough, even though he was breathing quite hard once he had finished.

“I hope you do not find my attentions to your earthly body impertinent Mr. Childermass,” he said, afraid that being so forward with Mr. Childermass’ corporeal body while his ghost looked on would be more uncomfortable than it felt. But Mr. Childermass replied that he minded not at all and that it was kind of Mr. Segundus to indulge him in his request. 

Segundus next went to the garden and picked some fresh mint and made a quick poultice of it with some coarse salt in order to clean Childermass’ teeth and tongue and even gave him a shave. He dared not attend to any lower parts of Childermass’s body, and dared not move the sheet below the middle of his belly, but he did wash his feet for good measure. When he was done, Childermass’ corpse looked clean and fresh and almost as if he were returned to life. Childermass thanked Mr. Segundus earnestly and said he’d done a fine job and Segundus felt himself flush and ducked his head bashfully at the praise. 

That morning, when the sunlight had again caused Childermass’ ghost to dissipate, Segundus passed a few moments in silent contemplation of Childermass’ corpse. He had spent so much time in the company of Childermass’ spectral presence, and they had talked so extensively over the past few nights, that he had almost forgotten that Childermass’ body lay, real and cold and still in this very room. 

Segundus stood and looked down at Childermass’ body for a long moment, letting his eyes take in the chestnut fall of Childermass’ long hair on his pillow and the fine shape of his face, reposed in death. He looked at the thickness of Childermass’ lashes where they rested upon his pale cheek, and contemplated the softness of Childermass’ lips. Such contemplations caused him to grow hot in his face and neck and made parts of him further south change as well in ways he was familiar with, but ashamed of. Oh how shameful to be looking at a man, (and a dead man at that) in this intimate way! How shameful to lose himself in thoughts of what might happen were Childermass alive again and made of warm flesh and blood. Without thinking, he took hold of Childermass’ cold hand and brought it to his cheek and held it there. 

Two more nights. That was all that was left before he could finally bring his friend back to the bloom of life and away from the clutches of death. Two more nights only. If Segundus was extra studious and executed his studies and practice of the spell on only two more occasions, then he need not contend himself with holding the hand of a corpse, but might instead hold the hand of…

He shook his head to clear it of such inappropriate musings. Holding hands with Childermass! As if the other man would ever want such a thing. As if he could ever want to do all the other things that Segundus longed to do. Yes, Childermass was kind to him, and bestowed upon him many warm smiles. But that could all be put down to simple gratitude for Segundus’ aid, and failing that, it could be put down to the fact that they had become quite good friends. Friends who spent time reading together and discussing magic and laughing over clever things. Friends who did not however stop in their studying to interlace their fingers or to kiss one another or to press their bodies together so tightly that not even the slimmest thread could be passed between them.

Segundus found himself quite flushed and hot at these thoughts, and realized that he had brought the palm of Childermass’ hand to his mouth to kiss it. Starting guiltily, he placed Childermass’ hand, now somewhat warmed by the heat of Segundus’ hands and his cheek, down onto the mattress carefully and stepped away from Childermass’ body. He did not truly want to do these shameful things with a corpse. Only with a warm and living and breathing Mr. Childermass, and so he chastised himself soundly for his sinful fantasies and went back to studying the text of the spell for the next evening. 


	8. The Sixth Night

Again, Childermass came to consciousness inside the silvery wood outside of Mr. Black’s brugh. Again he went and joined the new King’s company of merry creatures and even partook of some sweet breads and candied flowers and drank of some wine while talking with Mr. Black. Mr. and Mrs. Black were excellent company and asked him many questions about his service to Mr. Norrell and the current state of English magic. They seemed not to hold any resentment toward Childermass for being in the employ of a man who had done (even indirectly) such damage to Stephen’s life and well being, and for that Childermass was grateful. Mr. Black and his lovely, honey-haired wife seemed not to have a care in the world, and were continually pleasant and kind to him. 

Childermass brought up the subject of the fairy who had killed him and asked if they knew anything about him, and to his surprise, Stephen said that he did. Wicked Andrew, for that was indeed the fairy’s name, had wished his sister (who’s name was Bright Ophelia) to marry Stephen Black and to become the next queen of these fairy lands, and when Mrs. Black, (who had once been known as Mrs. Brandy), was chosen as Stephen’s dearest love and queen of the realm, Wicked Andrew had wanted to punish those whom Mr. Black knew best. Unfortunately for Childermass, the fairy had no solid information on who was close to Stephen and why, and had set his sites on Childermass. This being because Childermass was also embroiled heavily in the magic surrounding the dealings with the recently deposed king (the pernicious fairy with the thistledown hair called upon by Norrell and then later Strange). Since Norrell and Strange were now gone, and Walter and Emma Pole lived in London (and Wicked Andrew despised cities) he had decided upon Childermass as next in line for retribution. He had doubtless planned to try and murder Segundus next, and then Honeyfoot and anyone else at Starecross that he could connect with Stephen. He dared not go after Stephen himself, for he feared the new king’s power.

The whole affair was built around misplaced anger and misunderstandings and Mr. Black promised that he would have a strong word with Wicked Andrew and command him never to bother Childermass, Segundus or any of their acquaintances again. How he would make this threat hold was not discussed and Childermass was not sure he even wanted to know. There was a cold glint in Stephen’s eye when he said the words, and that was good enough for him.

Childermass was engaged in a conversation this evening with Mrs. Black about how she met her husband, and how she had fallen so hopelessly in love with Mr. Black because of how handsome and wise and kind he was. 

Childermass could not help but think back to the sight of Segundus’ gentle hands cleaning his body back in his bedroom at Starecross Hall. Of how Segundus had used such tender care with the razor when he shaved Childermass’ face, or his extra trip to the gardens in the dark hours of the early morning to get the mint for the poultice to clean Childermass’s teeth and tongue. The sight of Segundus’ pale, well shaped hands, their long, slim fingers moving the hot cloth across Childermass’ skin had caused a sharp twist of something hot and insistent to curl inside Childermass’ lower belly and had his chest fill with unspooling warmth. 

Mrs. Black must have seen something in his eyes, or else, she had developed The Sight from spending time in a fairy court, for she broke off her story and said, “It seems you too have a sweetheart of your own, Mr. Childermass.”

Childermass felt his face grow hot. “What makes you say that Mrs. Black?” He asked. 

“Why sir, it is written all over your face,” she smiled prettily at him and her blue eyes sparkled. “Tell me, who is it that has caught your fancy?”

“It is my friend, the magician, John Segundus” Childermass said, and even though he was admitting to loving another man, he felt no fear of retribution and not the smallest twinge of shame. This would have seemed unusual, but here he was, a ghost, eating supper with a company of talking animals and gnomes and fairies and a king who used to be a butler, and so nothing much surprised him any longer. 

“Ah. I do not believe I have met him, but he must be lovely indeed to catch your fancy.” Mrs. Black gave no indication that she was surprised or disgusted by what he had confessed. She only smiled more warmly at him in response. 

“He is that,” Childermass admitted, thoughts of just how lovely Segundus was, flitting through his mind for perhaps the tenth time that hour alone. “He is the best of men. Clever and kind and giving.” He sighed. “It pains me that we shan’t be able to be together.”  
  


“And why is that?” Mrs. Black asked, seeming genuinely not to know. 

“Well madam, it cannot have escaped your notice, but we are both men. That kind of love is a grave sin against God, and it is against English law.”

Mrs. Black made a frustrated noise and waved her delicate, bejeweled hand dismissively. “English law is foolish and is best ignored when it crosses with matters of the heart. If I had listened to English law, I’d never have eloped with my handsome Stephen now would I? Is there no way that you can conduct your love in secret?”

“I suppose we could,” Childermass said, having known several people whose ways of loving were not allowed out in the open and who had carried on secret affairs to avoid detection. It was not an easy way to go about things, but it could be done. Still... “Only, I do not think he returns my feelings. Or rather, I do not know that he does, and exposing myself to his rejection would...well Mrs. Black, I would say it would kill me, but it is rather late for that.” Childermass grinned ruefully at her. 

“Oh, but of course he loves you!” Mrs. Black exclaimed. “How could he not?” Seeing Childermass’ cynical expression, she continued. “Tell me, does he seem to enjoy your company?”

“He does,” admitted Childermass. And truth be told, not many others wanted to be in his company as much as Segundus did. Honeyfoot was unfailingly polite and Mrs. Lennox too, but neither of them strove to spend hours pouring over books of magic with Childermass the way Segundus did.

“And does he blush when you look at him?” she asked, grinning impishly.

“Does he…blush?” Childermass paused and thought, and a hundred images of a blushing Segundus flooded into his mind. “Yes, I suppose he does. But you do not know him Madam. He is very polite and has a nervous disposition. He blushes at many things.”

“Does he jump up to help you when you are in need of something? My Stephen did that quite often, and I grew to see it as a sure sign that he was just as enamored with me as I with him.”

Childermass thought back to the careful and respectful and enthusiastic way Segundus had lept to the task of cleaning Childermass’ body only earlier that morning, of how he always offered Childermass food and drink and comfortable lodgings when he stayed at Starecross. And perhaps most tellingly, his consistent and arduous labor over the past five days to try and bring Childermass back to life. “Yes, he does,” he replied, and now it was his turn to blush. 

“Then he must love you back. I am certain of it. You must tell him how you feel, Mr. Childermass. For what good is love when it cannot be shared?” With that she looked over at her husband, who was at this point, deep in conversation with a large cockatoo bird. Her face was so full of love and happiness that Childermass could not help but smile at the sight of it. The lady left him then, and rising, she went to Mr. Black and sat beside him. He turned and grabbed her hand, interlacing their fingers, and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, smiling in a besotted fashion at her before he returned to his conversation. 

Childermass sighed deeply and thought about the lady’s words. Yes, he had been on the verge of telling Segundus of his feelings, but that had been in the moments before he fell unconscious and eventually died, and was not the opportune time to confess his love. Or perhaps, perversely, he had seen it as the _most_ opportune time, since he had been fairly certain that he would not be around much longer to witness the effect his words had on his friend.

Since that day, he had been a homeless ghost with no corporeal form. What use was it to tell Segundus of the warmth and depth of his regard, if Segundus were to fail, and Childermass were to sink permanently into death? On the one hand, if Mr. Segundus did not return his feelings, then perhaps he would be relieved in some small way that Childermass would no longer be around to cause an uncomfortable scene were Segundus to reject him. 

What was worse, if Childermass misjudged Segundus’ feelings for him, Segundus would be well within his rights to have Childermass reported to the authorities, or at the very least, removed bodily from Starecross Hall and prevented from ever returning again. He told himself that he could never imagine Segundus doing such a thing. Even if he did not share Childermass’ feelings, he was the last person Childermass could imagine reacting so harshly to Childermass’ confession. Yet still...one could never tell what a man would do when confronted with something so shocking and possibly unpleasant. 

Soon Childermass was distracted from his worried thoughts by the dining hall of Stephen’s fairy court growing dim and translucent around him, and he felt himself undergoing the change that meant he was losing substance in this realm and was being pulled back to Starecross Hall.

He arrived to find Segundus, pale and exhausted, slumped in his chair. The man’s face lit up a little when he saw Childermass coalesce in the room, but he seemed too tired to rise and greet him as he usually did. 

“Mr. Segundus!” Childermass rushed to his side hovering over him, wishing to touch Segundus on the shoulder or the arm, but of course being unable to do so. “You look a fright! Have you given up sleeping entirely? You cannot continue in this fashion.”

Segundus sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and Childermass could see that it was damp with the sweat of exertion. “But Mr. Childermass,” he said, looking up blearily at him with red rimmed eyes, “I must continue. The spells grow more and more complex, and the accompanying objects and hand motions more and more varied. If I am to finish out this last night and bring you back to life, I must march forward tirelessly.”

Childermass looked down at the profusion of animal bones, feathers, ink pots, spools of yarn and pieces of parchment with arcane symbols written on them that festooned the desk and floor around Segundus. “Why can you not take a few hours sleep?” he suggested, placing his hand very near Segundus’ shoulder in a pantomime of warm reassurance. “Surely you can sleep this morning through and practice the spell later when you wake? You will have all day.”

“I cannot,” Segundus said, looking awful. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles and his skin had gone even more white than usual. He looked much worse than Childermass’ pale corpse that still lay, silent and cold upon the bed. 

“Whyever not?” Childermass asked him, frustration and fear for Segundus’ safety making a lump rise in his throat. 

“Because if I fail, then...Mr. Childermass… if I am to fail tomorrow, then I will never see you again.” His voice hitched as he spoke and it sounded as if he were close to tears. 

Childermass stepped back, surprised at this strong display of emotion. Mr. Segundus must be tired indeed to have said something so forward and emotional. 

“You will not fail. I have faith in you,” Childermass replied, aching with the urge to wrap Segundus up in his arms, to stroke his hair, to kiss his cheek. He had never felt more hopeless and ghostly and insubstantial as he now did in the face of Segundus’ helpless exhaustion. “You will only do yourself good if you sleep for a few hours. Perhaps you can simply lie down and I can watch over you? I can wake you in two hours time so that we may still spend the majority of the evening studying. That would be better than making yourself ill will it not?”

“But Mr. Childermass,” Segundus sounded resigned. “I must go on. Sleep will only make it much harder to concentrate as it will have me groggy and confused.”

“Nonsense. Mr. Segundus, I feel I must insist that you sleep. I will stay and make sure to wake you in no more than two hours time. I will not cease in my pestering you, so you may as well do what I say.”

Segundus’ shoulders slumped and he let out a very tired sounding sigh. “Alright Mr. Childermass. I will lie down in my room. If you promise to wake me in two hours time, then I will do it.” 

Childermass smiled inwardly at Segundus’ relatively quick surrender. He must have been tired indeed to agree to giving up two hours of time that could have been spent studying. He followed Segundus to his room and watched as the small, pale man pulled back the covers and lay down. “You promise to wake me?” He asked again, real worry echoing in his dark eyes. 

“Yes, of course. I shall keep an ear to the clock and when it strikes two, I will wake you.” 

Segundus nodded and then settled down, on his side facing Childermass, and giving him a tired smile, closed his eyes. In no time, he was fast asleep and snoring gently. Childermass sat on a chair near the bed and did as he promised, keeping watch. What he mostly watched was Segundus’ face, smoothed in sleep. Childermass allowed himself the unique pleasure of looking at Segundus as much as he wanted to. It was an unexpected treat, as usually, he was forced to look away and pretend that he didn’t long to gaze at the other man whenever he was in his presence. Now that Segundus was deep in sleep, and his face had lost its worried, anguished expression, he looked quite sweet and far younger than his years, his dark hair falling onto his brow, only gently streaked with fine strands of silver, his dark lashes brushing his pale cheeks. His body looked unbearably slight and small and pale in the largeness and darkness of his four poster bed, and his narrow shoulders rose and fell with his breathing. Childermass took a few moments longer to admire the small rise of Mr. Segundus’ hip beneath the covers, but then his mind strayed to thoughts of perhaps putting his hands on those hips in order to pull Segundus to him, and with a sharp intake of breath, he got up and went swiftly back to his own room. Watching over Mr. Segundus so that he could make sure to wake him did not include losing himself in fantasies of touching Mr. Segundus’ body. 

He went to his own room then and looked down upon the still form of his own body. He noted how pale and white his face had become from loss of blood and worried that he had enough left inside his body to keep him functioning once Segundus had woken him tomorrow night. He wondered what would happen were Mr. Segundus to fail in bringing him back. Would he know only darkness? Would he awake in the pits of Hell? 

Or, and he dared not truly hope for this...would he awake in the halls of Heaven? Childermass was not a particularly religious man, but now, on the cusp of his possible permanent exile into the state of corpse-hood, he wondered… Would his bad deeds be somehow weighed against his good ones and what would the judgment be? He had always assumed that he was a bad man. A pickpocket and thief. A manipulator and a liar and a dark sort of person. 

Since coming back to Starecross Hall however, since helping Segundus and Honeyfoot start up the school he had once been instrumental in shutting down… he had grown to think of himself differently. Segundus and Honeyfoot were the best, the sweetest of men, and their kindness and amiableness and helpful nature had somewhat rubbed off on Childermass over the past year. Segundus’ goodness in particular had crept past Childermass’ rough exterior and wound its way to his heart and settled there, making its owner feel warm and gentle and tender at the strangest times. Maybe there was a place for him in Heaven after all? 

Perhaps, thought Childermass, as he continued to contemplate his possible demise, he would simply return to king Stephen’s brugh and drink and eat and talk away the rest of eternity with Mr. and Mrs. Black. The thought was not an unpleasant one, but despite the fact that they were good company and kind people, he still hoped with all his heart that he might stay here in the earthly realm. Stay here with Mr. Segundus...even if… even if they never were afforded the opportunity to be together in the ways Childermass wanted. 

The clock struck two far sooner than he’d expected and he went back dutifully to wake Segundus. He bent by Mr. Segundus’ bed and after several whispered repetitions of Segundus’ name, the other man slowly blinked himself awake. Upon waking, he groaned as if in pain, and squinched his face into a wrinkled expression of distaste. It hurt Childermass’ heart to have to wake him thusly, but the alternative, letting him sleep longer, would be a breach of the promise he’d made to Mr. Segundus, and he did not want to betray his trust. 

“It is two o’clock already?” Segundus asked muzzily and Childermass confirmed that it was. “I feel as if I were only asleep a moment. Well then,” Segundus said as he dragged himself into a seated position at the end of the bed and ran the fingers of his hands through his lank, dark hair, making it stick out in all directions quite charmingly, “we shall study shall we not?” Childermass nodded and together they returned to Childermass’ bedroom to tackle the practice of the final night’s spell. 

This final incantation was blessedly a little simpler than on previous nights, but it was still quite a large task to accomplish. Childermass asked Segundus where each of the physical elements of the spell could be found. Coriander blossoms and basil and a small pinch of ash from the kitchen fireplace. They went through the elaborate hand motions together, with Childermass giving Segundus hints on how to do them more smoothly. 

Childermass noticed that Segundus kept scratching irritably at his chest and after the fourth or fifth time it happened, he asked if perhaps Segundus had an insect bite or a rash that bothered him. “No,” sighed Segundus with a sheepish look. “It is naught but the honey. I have been required to anoint my forehead, my left wrist, my right wrist, both ankles and now my chest with it so far. It has become stuck to the material of my shirt and is bothering me, but it is of no importance.” 

Childermass nodded knowingly. Many spells involved honey, as it was a symbol of prosperity and joy. He supposed it could be quite useful when employed in a spell of resurrection. 

The early morning hours went swiftly, with Segundus reading the different aspects of the spell and then the two of them going through them over and over until he had them memorized. A few minutes after the stroke of four however, Segundus looked back at the book and read the next few lines silently to himself, and then his eyes went wide and much to Childermass’ surprise, he slammed the book shut. “I think we have had enough practice for now!” he said, his voice high and tight and his eyes still wide with what looked like shock. 

“But sir,” countered Childrmass in confusion, “we have not finished yet. I should think you would want to practice the spell in its entirety before we stop.” 

“Yes, yes,” muttered Segundus, putting the book away on top of a small stack by his elbow and turning so that his body was between Childermass and the stack. “I think however that the last steps of the spell are quite simple and I shall be able to practice them quite easily tomorrow during the day. May we spend the last hour or so of your time here conversing about something other than this blasted spell?” He sounded a little desperate, and so Childermass left off his questions and simply nodded his assent. 

“That would be good Mr. Segundus. I am certain you will execute the remainder of the spell perfectly on your own.” He was however, still confused, for Segundus was behaving very strangely. It was unlike him to stop a job before it was truly done. Still, if he wanted to spend some time in pleasant conversation, who was Childermass to deny him? He had hoped that they would have time to talk, and here was Segundus, insisting on it. 

For a little while, they conversed about the other inhabitants of Starecross Hall. Honeyfoot had urged Segundus to pass along his well wishes on their final night. He had come and visited Childermass a few times over the past seven days, but he had been so unnerved by the sight of two Childermasses (one on the bed, cold and unmoving and the other, appearing normal but completely discorporated standing by the bed) that he hadn’t stayed for long, and only came a few times before leaving Segundus to it. 

Childermass inquired after Vinculus and was told that he was strangely passive. He wandered about the house and grounds during the day, trying to nick food from the cook and lounging about by the fire, but he did not cause much mischief and had been more quiet and well behaved than usual. “I should die more often if it means my errant book will cease to be a menace whenever I do,” Childermass replied with a chuckle. Segundus remained silent, and when Childermass looked up at him, he saw the other man’s face painted over with anxiety.

“Please do not joke so sir,” Segundus said softly, “for this could very well be the last conversation we have on this earthly plane, and I cannot bear to make light your demise.” 

Childermass nodded and said that he would joke no more. “I have been thinking about my fate rather a lot of late,” Childermass began. “I have been thinking of the possibility that you and I shall never talk again.”

“Please,” Segundus said, reaching out to put a hand on Childermass’ shoulder before remembering that he could not touch him and withdrawing it again. “Please do not speak thusly. I am certain I shall succeed. The alternative is…” and here he looked down and away from Childrmass’ eyes. “The alternative is not to be contemplated.” he finished softly. 

“I am certain you are correct Mr. Segundus. You shall succeed and I will be returned to the bloom of life in no time.” Childermass shoved down his fear for Segundus’ sake and gave him what he hoped was a warm smile. Segundus smiled back at him, his eyes sparkling from within their shadows of exhaustion and their gazes met and held. And held… and held. Neither spoke or moved for the space of several heartbeats. 

“Mr. Childermass,” Segundus began, “there are some things I feel I should say before the sun comes and takes you away again.”

“I as well,” Childermass remarked, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, at his throat and in his ears. He wondered absently that he could feel so very alive when in fact he was naught but a ghost. “I have things to say that should have been said a long time ago.”

“Well then,” Segundus replied with a grin. “I wanted you to know,” he continued, sounding hesitant but earnest, “that over the past year, I have come to regard you as… as a dear friend.” 

“Yes,” Childermass said eagerly. “Yes Mr. Segundus, and I you as well. You have become quite...quite dear to me.” 

“And I wanted to tell you,” continued Segundus, looking pained, “that if the spell fails, if I fail to restore you to life, that… that the pain of that knowledge will haunt me for the rest of my days.” 

“Mr. Segundus...please you do not have to-” 

“Please sir, let me finish,” Segundus held up a hand to forestall Childermass’ reassurances. “I wanted you to know that I will try my utmost to complete the spell to the letter and to pull you back to the realm of the living, but if I do not succeed,” his voice faltered somewhat at this point and he looked down at his hands and took a deep, bolstering breath before continuing. “If I do not succeed, I will devote the remainder of my life to either finding another way to bring you back, or failing that, endeavoring to become a better magician, so that my failure in this one, most important endeavor should not ever be repeated.” 

“You are too hard on yourself Mr. Segundus.” Childermass kept his voice soft and reassuring, for it tore at his heart to see his friend take all of the blame for Childermass’ death onto his slim shoulders. “You have done admirable work, and if it is my time to go, then so be it. I wanted you to know that...that I have been blessed by knowing you and that I...that I…” 

Alas, Mr. Childermass should have spoken with more expediency, for at that moment, the light of the morning sun crept over the window sill again and Segundus, Starecross, all disappeared, and he found himself in the silvery wood once more. 


	9. The Seventh Night

When Childermass again faded away to nothing in the light of the morning sun, Segundus sagged in his chair and put his face in his hands and wept bitterly. He was not ready to say goodbye. He was not ready to lose Childermass’ company. He was exhausted and full of worry over the completion of the final night’s spell, and just the thought that this was the last time he would ever see Childermass moving and speaking and the last time he would see Childermass’ smile...well...it almost undid the last of his resolve. 

He sobbed into his hands for some time, until he was worn out, and then he went and lay again in his own bed, being that he was incapable of any other action. He fell into a fitful sleep and was awoken by the sound of people moving about downstairs in the kitchen and in the hall outside his room. Blearily and slowly he washed and dressed himself, and as he wiped away the (now quite furry) dab of honey at the center of his chest, his mind returned to the final instructions of the spell, and he felt himself grow hot with shame. 

He vividly remembered his shock and embarrassment at reading the instructions earlier this morning when Childermass had been there, and thanked God that he had had the presence of mind not to read them aloud. He hoped that Childermass did not suspect that anything was amiss when Segundus had slammed the book shut and refused to continue, for Segundus could not bear for him to know what was written on the final page of the book. 

Still, if he were to succeed with the spell, even this, most shameful and thrilling act must be accomplished, and it would be Mr. Segundus who must accomplish it. 

Pushing thoughts of what he must do early next morning from his mind, Segundus wandered down to find some breakfast and some strong black coffee to bolster his spirits. Honeyfoot and Vinculus were downstairs at the table when he arrived, sitting in an uncomfortable sort of silence. This made perfect sense as they were men of such completely opposite temperaments. 

“Dear Mr. Segundus!” Honeyfoot exclaimed as he rose eagerly and shewed Segundus a chair across from him. “You do not look well. You must sit and have some coffee and some good, hot gruel and perhaps some bread and butter. You are all pale and thin!”

Segundus smiled wearily at Mr. Honeyfoot’s attempts to mother him, and he dutifully let himself be ushered into a chair and had a cup of coffee and a large bowl of steaming oats put before him. He ate and drank without speaking for a moment. Vinculus eyed him from the corner with a sly grin on his face, but Segundus ignored him. 

“How have the wards along the edge of the wood been holding up?” Segundus asked once he had warmed himself with some breakfast. 

“They seem to still be in effect, if only for the simple reason that there has been no fairy mischief of late...but I am uncertain if that is because the wards are holding, or if nothing mischievous has happened.” Honeyfoot frowned slightly. “The same with Walter De Chepe’s Prophylaxis. It is either doing it’s job well, or has no job to do.”

Segundus nodded. “Either way, I am glad that we have had no more troubles. And you Vinculus? How do you fair with your master gone” he turned at last to address the shabby man in the corner, who was currently endeavoring to shove a large slab of bread thickly spread with butter into his mouth.

“He is my reader, not my master,” Vinculus mumbled around a mouthful of bread, “and I am well. The food here is good and the new maid has been giving me the eye. I shall hope to remain here for quite some time if it pleases you sirs.” 

Segundus sighed with resignation. He supposed that if he were to fail to resurrect Childermass, Vinculus would become, in a way, the ward of Starecross Hall. He was far too valuable because of the words written on his skin to be left to wandering the countryside, sleeping under hedges and drinking too much whiskey, but also, it would be trying to have him continually underfoot. 

“Have you been able to practice tonight’s spell Mr. Segundus? And how was Mr. Childermass? You did see him this morning did you not?” Honeyfoot asked.

“I did see him, and he is well...or as well as can be expected. And yes,” Segundus confirmed, feeling his cheeks grow warm at the thought of what tonight’s spell would entail, “I have practiced the spell, and will do so several more times throughout the day. There are also quite a few things I need to procure from the cook’s kitchen to aid me in the casting of it.”

Honeyfoot nodded and they spent an enjoyable hour or so in conversation before Segundus went back to his rooms to practice the steps of the final night’s spell. He did so again and again, making the motions with his hands and looking again and again at how the various objects the spell required were to be placed. Again and again though, he reached the final step of the spell and found himself growing hot and filled with shame at the final action he was to complete. He grew so flustered in contemplating this final step that he was almost put off from the practicing of the rest of it, but he persevered nonetheless. It would not do him or Mr. Childermass any good if he were to balk in the execution of his duties (no matter how unusual and disrespectful and shameful they may be) at the very cusp of his possible success. 

There was no appropriate way to practice this final step, but the action of it echoed in his mind over and over throughout the day until he became consumed with worry over the implications of its completion. Still, he soldiered on, trying valiantly to put this final step from his mind as best he could. For you see, although Mr. Segundus was filled with shame over having to commit this last act, this last step of the spell, he was also filled with longing. It was something he would, under better circumstances, and with Mr. Childermass’ willing consent, be quite happy to accomplish. But enacting such a thing without Childermass’ explicit blessing, and without knowing if this act would disgust and horrify Childermass...well, it was very upsetting to contemplate. 

The sun was fast setting, and Segundus grew more and more nervous as night fell. He barely touched his food at dinner and Mr. Honeyfoot’s urging that he should eat more could not persuade him to do so. “I fear Mr. Honeyfoot,” Segundus said with a heavy heart, “that until I am able to bring Mr. Childermass back to life, I shall be unable to find a moment’s peace until the spell is done.”

Mr. Honeyfoot asked if Mr. Segundus would like some company for this last evening’s rituals and was surprised indeed when Mr. Segundus yelped that no! No he would not want anyone else nearby to break his concentration. He went on to reassure Mr. Honeyfoot, who was clearly taken aback by the fervent nature of Segundus’ refusal of company, that he would be too distracted by another presence in the room, but that Honeyfoot was very kind to offer. 

Just the thought of Honeyfoot witnessing the final step of the spell that evening made Segundus flush from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair in shame. Perish the thought!

Finally, the clock shewed that it was ten minutes to midnight and Segundus had set up all of the various bits and pieces of the spell and had the book open in front of him on Childermass’ writing desk. As the clock struck twelve, Mr. Segundus, heart in his throat, began the incantations and the motions of the spell. While this version was indeed a bit shorter than on previous nights, it still took him a good quarter of an hour before he finally reached the last step of the spell. He leaned over to read the words written on the final page of the book, hoping beyond hope that somehow the words had changed, or that he had misinterpreted them, but no...there they were...as clear as day.

  
  


_ And upon the completion of this, the seventh repetition of the spell, takest thou the honey and anoint thy lips… _

With shaking fingers, Mr. Segundus dipped into the small pot of honey at the corner of the desk and walked over to Mr. Childermass’ corpse. 

_ And upon doing so, allow the corpse to drink the honey of life from thine lips, bestowing upon him The Kiss of Life _

The final words of the spell echoed in poor Mr. Segundus’ mind as he gazed down at Childermass’ sleeping face. He prayed that should the spell work, that Mr. Childermass would not be too horrified to be awakened in such a manner. Perhaps, if he did it quickly, Childermass would fail to notice that he had been kissed back to life?

Stalling was useless, and so Mr. Segundus dutifully smeared the honey across his mouth and moving quickly so as not to lose his courage, he bent and placed his lips against Childermass’. He at first had intended to pull back quickly, but fearing that doing so would somehow disrupt the success of the spell, he pressed his lips more firmly against those of Childermass’ corpse, wincing at the impertinence and disrespect and forced intimacy of the act, even while he felt his insides turn to butterfly wings at the feel of finally doing a thing he’d dreamed of doing for such a long time. 

The change came almost immediately. He felt Childermass move and sigh beneath him and felt his lips become animated through the thin layer of sticky honey that joined their mouths together. Segundus’ heart leaped with joy upon feeling these signs of life begin to reanimate Childermass’ body, and despite how enjoyable it was to keep kissing Childermass, he resolved to pull away before Childermass could come completely to consciousness. He was prevented from doing so however as a pair of arms came up around him, and he found himself pulled further onto the bed. 

He intended to extricate himself from Childermass’ arms and apologize, but at that moment, Childermass let out a hoarse moan and pulled Segundus even closer and Segundus found his resolve to end the kiss melt away like snow in warm spring sunshine. Childermass’ lips were moving softly against his own, the man’s sweet breath mixing with the taste of the honey they shared, and Segundus heard himself make a small, helpless noise in response. 

Somewhere in the house, a door creaked open and Segundus froze and pulled back guiltily, breaking the kiss at last. He looked down into Childermass’ dark eyes, which were now open and alive and full of some strong and unreadable emotion. “I...I…” Segundus stammered, twisting away from Childermass’ arms and scrambling to his feet, feeling horribly uncomfortable. “I am sorry Mr. Childermass! I am so so sorry! It was the spell! I swear, it said to do so as the final step to the spell!”

Mr. Childermass opened his mouth as if to speak, but only a rasping noise issued forth. He reached a hand toward Segundus, and managed to croak out a single word with a throat that had not been used to speak for seven days. “ _ Wait _ ,” he whispered.

But Segundus was far too embarrassed at his behavior to stay in the room a moment longer. He would have liked to have stayed and talked with Childermass and helped to fulfill his needs upon waking back to life, and indeed he felt a sort of light headed joy at the fact that Childermass had been returned to them. But it mixed unpleasantly with the knowledge that he had done an indecent and far too intimate thing in the execution of the spell, and he found he could not bear to spend another moment in Childermass’ company. 

“I shall fetch Mr. Honeyfoot!” he exclaimed, and then promptly fled the room. 

Mr. Segundus went swiftly to Honeyfoot’s bedroom door and knocked upon it gently, hoping to wake him in the least jarring fashion possible. After knocking a few times and hearing a shuffling noise from within, the door was opened to reveal a very disheveled Mr. Honeyfoot who blinked groggily at the sight of Segundus at his door in the middle of the night.

“Mr. Segundus!” Honeyfoot exclaimed, coming to full wakefulness at the prospect that something might have gone wrong. “Is Mr. Childermass returned to us?”

“Yes! Yes, he has been!” For a moment, the pure happiness of this fact overcame Segundus’ shame over his behavior and he felt himself smile broadly. Mr. Honeyfoot smiled as well and let out a joyful bark of laughter. 

“Oh my dear Mr. Segundus! I cannot tell you how happy this news has made me. How does he fair? Is he ill? Is he uncomfortable?”

“Truth be told Mr. Honeyfoot, I did not wait to ask him. I came straightway to find you so that you could help me see to his needs.” 

“Give me just a moment to dress myself and I shall be along presently,” responded Mr. Honeyfoot, then, he gripped Mr. Segundus by the arm and smiled again. “Well done Mr. Segundus! Well done!” He exclaimed before rushing back into his room to get dressed.

Segundus waited in the hallway outside Honeyfoot’s room, not daring to return to Childermass’ bedchamber without him. Soon, Honeyfoot joined him in the hallway and together they made their way quickly back to Childermass’ room. Childermass lay still upon the bed and for a sickening moment, Segundus thought that he had expired again. But then, he could see the up and down motion of Childermass’ chest as he breathed and he watched as Childermass struggled to pull himself up onto his elbows in the bed. He and Honeyfoot rushed over and helped him to sit up and piled pillows behind him, and all the while, Segundus avoided looking directly into Childermass’ eyes and felt his face flush at the sight of Childermass, shirtless and warm and living again. 

“Oh my dear, dear Mr. Childermass!” Enthused Honeyfoot while gripping Childermass by his shoulder and grinning happily. I am so very glad to see you back with us! What a joyous occasion!”

Childermass had a lot of difficulty speaking and Segundus leapt at the opportunity to go and fetch him a glass of water. He returned swiftly and Childermass gratefully took the cup and gulped it down. Once he had done so, he lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes and breathed deeply, seeming to lack the strength to do much else. 

Mr. Segundus was feeling several things at once. Firstly, he was beyond glad that the spell had worked. Oh how happy it made him to see Mr. Childermass inhabiting his body and moving about and not lying still and cold any longer! Also though, he was still somewhat eaten up by the shame and embarrassment of kissing Childermass, and in doing so in such an involved manner...and in the enjoyment of it. The spell had not specified that he keep kissing Childermass’ lips beyond the first signs that the man had been returned to life. Nor had it specified that he should make soft noises or settle so warmly in Childermass’ arms the way he had done. Yes, Childermass had embraced him and kissed him back, but the man had likely been out of his senses...had not realized what he was doing. How could he? For kissing another man had certainly been the furthest thing from his mind and desires at that moment. 

And so Segundus kept his eyes away from Childermass’ face and whenever some need of Childermass’ would arise, it was Segundus who quickly jumped up to attend to it. Mr. Honeyfoot, being of somewhat advanced years and having a bum knee, was only too happy and grateful to allow Segundus to do the fetching of food and water and hot towels and tea and brandy that Childermass required. And even when Childermass did not specifically request these things (for his voice was still scratchy and hoarse with being unutilized these past eight days), Segundus invented things to bring him. Woolen stockings to warm his feet. Extra blankets for his bed. An apple, cut into pieces so that it would be easier for Childermass to eat. Such little errands did him the benefit of making him absent from Childermass’ bedchamber, which allowed him a break from his feelings of shameful embarrassment in the wake of the kiss they’d shared. 

He dared not look at Childermass’ face to such an extent that even Mr. Honeyfoot noticed. “Why Mr. Segundus, is something bothering you? You seem quite distracted.” 

For his part, Childermass did not ask after Segundus’ mood, nor did he remark on the strangeness of Segundus’ behavior. He thanked Mr. Segundus softly and politely for each thing Segundus brought him and each time Segundus plumped up the pillows behind his head. He didn’t speak much, only to express how happy he was to be alive again, and to say that he would tell them more of his adventures beyond death when he was more recovered. 

Eventually, Segundus could bear the discomfort of not looking at Childermass any longer and excused himself, saying again how glad he was that Mr. Childermass had returned to them and that he would surely see Childermass on the morrow. Childermass again thanked him softly and wished him a good night, and Segundus left the room to go to his own bedchamber to sleep. It was early, perhaps five thirty in the evening, but Mr. Segundus was frightfully tired, what with the many nights spent in study and worry and with the excitement of Childermass’ return. He felt that he would fall asleep shortly after laying his head down. And he was right. He fell deeply asleep within minutes. 


	10. You May Call Me John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first johnsquared fic. I did not follow the popular hc that they go from enemies to friends to lovers, though I do really enjoy that. I wanted to write a ton of fluff (and fluffy smut) to give poor Childermass a break. He gets beat up a lot and deserves a nice time with his boyfriend. 
> 
> I am slow-burn-sally on tumblr and if you are a Good Omens fan as well as a JSAMN fan holler at me please!!

As it turned out, healing from being dead took quite a bit of time. It is not that John Childermass was laboring under the delusion that he would jump up to play billiards a day after he was reanimated, but it had been a solid week and still he felt a touch groggy and weak. He was reminded by the physician that despite the fact that Mr. Segundus had so thoughtfully used a spell to preserve Childermass’ flesh from decay, that his body had not eaten or drunk for eight days, nor had it moved or slept. It was lucky that he felt as well as he did, the physician reminded him, and that the preservation spell kept such things as blood pooling in Mr. Childermass’ extremities from happening. What with the ordeal his body had undergone, the physician said, Childermass was lucky to be functioning at all. Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, Childermass had experienced none of the discomforts of death as his non corporeal form suffered no pain and no hunger. Ironically, reinhabiting his rightful body was more difficult and painful that it would have been to abandon it and remain a ghost. 

He grew impatient with everyone’s tutting and fussing over him and grew a bit snappish, for being fussed over was one of the things that always put him in foul spirits. He was a man used to sleeping by the side of the road and traveling for long days at a stretch, often in the rain and wind. He did not need to be treated like a spoilt lap dog. Of course when it was  _ Mr. Segundus _ doing the fussing, Childermass found that he minded not much at all. He found that Mr. Segunudus was exempt from many things that typically drew Childermass’ irritation. 

Frustratingly however, Mr. Segundus seemed to endeavor to always be in the company of Mr. Honeyfoot or a maid or the cook, or Mrs. Lennox. There were things Mr. Childermass needed to talk about with Mr. Segundus. Chiefly, he wished to discuss how Childermass had woken to the extreme pleasure of Mr. Segundus being in his arms and kissing him… It appeared that anointing his lips with honey and kissing Childermass had been the final step in the resurrection spell, but this fact had apparently driven Mr. Segundus to paroxysms of discomfort and anxiety. 

The fact that Mr. Segundus was so put off by this kiss was strange indeed, because his behavior while committing this act had not been that of a man who was unhappy. Quite the opposite in fact. Mr. Segundus had sighed and rested happily in Childermass’ arms and had kissed him back and had kept kissing him with a very affectionate fervor. And then, something had happened to break the spell between them, and Mr. Segundus had apologized and fled, looking as if he had just slapped Childermass in the face, rather than what he’d actually done, which was to make the wildest and best of Childermass’ dreams come true. 

Childermass had hoped that once the hubbub of his return to life had calmed somewhat that Mr. Segundus and himself would be able to have a talk, to see if he could ferret out the cause of Mr. Segundus’ anxiety. But alas no, Mr. Segundus had made it quite clear that he feared being alone with Childermass. At first, he made sure to only enter Childermass’ bedchambers while in the company of Mr. Honeyfoot or Charles, and then later, when Childermass was able to finally get up from his bed and dress and walk slowly about the house, Segundus had turned into a slippery minnow, always flitting away the moment Childermass entered a room, or making certain that there was a third person there so that they could not be alone together. 

It was frustrating and saddening to Childermass that his dear friend avoided him so. Despite the fact that Mr. Segundus appeared to have enjoyed their first kiss very much, he seemed to have now changed his mind and was endeavoring to treat Childermass with nervous politeness at the best of times. It was not that Segundus was rude or cold. He was unfailingly kind and polite, just as always. It was more that the intimacy they had shared before and during Childermass’ ordeal had evaporated, and now, in its place, the man acted as if he had caused Childermass a great and unforgivable offense.

A week passed in this awkward, unhappy fashion. Childermass grew more and more dejected with Segundus’ attempts to avoid him, and soon gave up trying to corner the man. Instead, he spent time going on long rides out on the moors and roads around Starecross Hall, and in making short trips to nearby towns to procure new books. About a month after he had recovered, he took Vinculus with him and went to visit Mr. Stonewater, and together the two of them spent a few interesting evenings working to translate the writing on Vinculus’ skin and made good headway together, managing to uncover the meaning behind the symbols and words on the upper part of Vinculus’ back.

Upon returning however, and finding Mr. Segundus still bent on avoiding him, he resolved himself to do something about it. He could no longer stand living with this careful, nervousness from the other man, when he longed for a return of their intimate friendship and warm regard. Even if it was discovered that Mr. Segundus could not love Childermass back, Childermass still wanted to remain his dear friend. He would grieve over not being able to find happiness within the intimacy of a more physical love with Segundus, but he would make do, if only to be able to sit alone together and study magic, or have conversations out in the garden while Childermass puffed on his pipe. He missed Mr. Segundus dreadfully and felt his heart ache with the distance the other man continually imposed between them. 

He was unsure of how to get the two of them alone. Simply demanding that they go somewhere together to speak might embarrass Mr. Segundus in front of one of his constant chaperones to the point that he would make up some excuse and flee. Perhaps however… there was a certain spell that he had never attempted before his death that now seemed quite easily within his grasp that would allow him to enter Mr. Segundus’ bed chamber through the wall that separated their rooms. It was similar to the spell that Mr. Strange used to travel the King’s Roads through mirrors, but instead of glass, it required the manipulation of wood, for it was wood that Childermass would have to pass into in order to step through the wall. 

He would never have done such a thing under normal circumstances, (at least never in regard to his friend) but he feared that Mr. Segundus would refuse him entry were he to knock, and he had grown weary of the man’s constant evasions. Better to simply appear and apologize for the intrusion than to try and force his way in past an apologetic, Mr. Segundus in the hallway outside his room. Knocking and being refused entry would also expose them both to scrutiny from the household staff.

It would be impertinent in the extreme to breach Mr. Segundus’ privacy this way, but, if Childermass did it the moment that Mr. Segundus retired for the evening, he would have next to no chance to interrupt the man in his evening toilet, or (and this thought made Childermass feel hot and flushed) while in a state of undress. And how else was he to get Mr. Segundus alone? Childermass had in truth grown a bit desperate to hash out this problem between them, and being that he’d never been one to care overly much for propriety, he decided that that very night he would go to Mr. Segundus’ bedchamber and sort out this misunderstanding once and for all. Then, if Mr. Segundus admitted to being repulsed by Childermass, at least Childermas would know and would make plans to leave Starecross Hall...perhaps only returning once in a while to check in on the establishment of the school, for he could not bear to stay and enjoy the company of Mr. Segundus and Mr. Honeyfoot, and work on magic with them if the very sight of him made Segundus uncomfortable and unhappy. 

So it was that only a few moments after Mr. Segundus arose from his discussion with Mr. Honeyfoot by the fire and announced that he was off to bed, Childermass announced that he was of a mind to go to bed as well and followed Mr. Segundus up the stairs to their adjoining chambers. He was again reminded of Mr. Segundus’ desire to be away from Childermass’ company by how he veritably ran up the stairs to avoid having to speak to Childermass on the way up. This pained Childermass, but, he consoled himself, as soon he would have an answer once and for all for the reasons Segundus was avoiding him. Soon, this awkward stalemate would be over, for good or for ill. 

He went to his own rooms and removed his jacket and waistcoat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, for he knew from experience that unnecessary clothing could cause resistance when traveling through substances such as wood or stone. He then closed his eyes and muttered the words that made up the spell and stepped to the wall that separated their rooms. With a deep breath, he again closed his eyes and stepped forward. It felt as if nothing at all had happened, and he only saw a shadow pass over him through his closed eyelids as he moved through the wall and out the other side. In fact, had not Segundus gasped in surprise, he would have assumed that his spell had failed, being that there was no physical indication that he had passed through. 

“Mr. Childermass!” Segundus whispered in shock, and Childermass opened his eyes to see the man’s pale face and wide eyes staring at him. Luckily, he was not in some state of undress or some other embarrassing and vulnerable position, but only stood by his bed, fully clothed.

“Forgive me,” Childermass said, holding out a hand to Mr. Segundus in order to reassure him. “I did not mean to intrude, but it has been over a month since I was returned to life, and you have endeavored to avoid me the entire time. I could not bear it another second.”

Segundus’s look changed from one of shocked surprise to one of extreme anxiety and his face turned a bright pink. “Mr. Childermass...I am sorry. I am so so sorry for avoiding you,” he began, his voice thick and his eyes flicking away from Childermass’ face down at the floor. 

“If you are sorry for hiding from me, then why do you persist in doing so?” Childermass asked, choosing directness as usual to get to the heart of the matter. “Did you not miss me when I was an apparition? Did you not wish to spend time together in the discussion of magic like we did before? Why do you run from me whenever I enter the room?”

Mr. Segundus shook his head and kept his eyes trained on the floor in front of him, refusing to look at Childermass, but he waved his arm in the direction of a chair by his bedroom hearth. “Won’t you please have a seat? The fire is warm and cheery and we may talk while seated beside it.”

Childermass was mollified somewhat by Segundus’ invitation, and so he nodded and went and sat in the chair by the fire. Mr. Segundus took a seat in the chair opposite him, but for a long moment he did not speak. He looked dreadful, his brow furrowed, his eyes anxious and downcast and he was chewing nervously on his bottom lip. His face remained as pink as a fall sunset and he twisted his hands together in his lap. Childermass braced himself for the news that Mr. Segundus loathed the sight of him. That Mr. Segundus could not bear to face the memory of their kiss. That he wished Childermass to leave Starecross Hall and never to return. 

“Mr. Segundus,” he prompted gently, wanting this painful conversation to be gotten out of the way once and for all. “Please Mr. Segundus, won’t you tell me what worries have plagued you so that you cannot even look at my face? Have I done summat to insult you or to lose your fond regard?”

Mr. Segundus’ expression twisted in agony, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, clearly preparing to speak. Childermass waited patiently, though his heart was pounding at his wrists and temple. 

“Mr. Childermass,” Segundus began, sounding faint and lost. “I can scarcely bring myself to describe the anguish and shame I feel over having breached your trust in such a horrible manner.”

Childermass was confused. Why was Mr. Segundus apologizing to  _ him _ , when clearly it had been something Childermass had done that caused the other man such grief. But ramained silent and waited for Mr. Segundus to continue. 

“I beg you to believe me Mr. Childermass, but the act that I committed upon you in order to bring you back to life...the...the kiss that I gave you as you lay lifeless in your bed, it was a part of the spell. It was the very  _ last _ part of the spell to bring you back to life. Had I not done it...well...you would have languished as a ghost and your body would have been lost forever. I had no choice but to do it. I beg you to forgive me.” 

“Forgive you?” Childermass could hardly believe his ears. “How could I forgive you when you did nothing wrong?” he asked. This did not seem to ease Mr. Segundus’ anxiety one bit. 

“I beg you to forgive me sir because I know that receiving a kiss from me was not what you ever would have wished, and because it was so very indecent and so very wicked of me to do it, especially as you lay senseless and undefended in death. But I had to!” He exclaimed ardently, his eyes full of anguish as he finally raised them to Childermass’ face. “If I had not, you would surely have perished. So I repeat Mr. Childermass...please forgive me for my impertinence. It was only done so that you could be saved from permanent death.”

“You…” Childermass paused, unsure of exactly what to say next. “You...did not enjoy it?” he asked hesitantly, his heart hammering away in his ears as his eyes searched Segundus’ face in the firelight. “You were...repulsed by it?”

“No! No, I was not. I was not repulsed,” said Mr. Segundus, and Childermass felt himself let out a long breath of relief that Segundus was (at the very least) not disgusted by the kiss they’d shared.

“Then why would you apologize for bestowing it upon me? For truth be told, I enjoyed it very much.” Childermass responded, keeping careful watch on his friend’s expression. 

“You did?” Segundus looked shocked in the extreme. His eyes had gone round and his mouth fell open in surprise. “You...you enjoyed it?” he asked again.

Childermass chuckled at the other man’s astonished expression. “Yes, very much,” he replied. “Did you not also enjoy it? I’d hoped from the way you settled in my arms that you did.” 

“Oh…” Mr. Segundus seemed unable to speak for a moment, and they sat in silence with the only sounds being the crackling and popping of the logs in the fireplace. Childermass found that he was again holding his breath as he waited for Segundus to reply. After a few more moments of silence, he spoke again. “Oh, Mr. Childermass. I...I did enjoy it. I did. I thought though that it was the last thing that you would want upon waking. To have another man pressing his mouth to yours in such a sinful and forward fashion. I thought for certain that you were quite angry at me for taking such liberties.”

“But Mr. Segundus,” countered Childermass, “How could I have thought you sinful and too forward when you felt me enfold you in my embrace, when I so happily kissed you back? Were those the actions of a man who disliked the kiss he was receiving?”

Segundus seemed to think for a moment before responding. “You…” he began and then faltered to a stop again before trying a second time. “You...had just risen from the dead, sir. You were unaware of the nature of the situation. I was certain you were simply confused and unable to understand what was being done to you.”

Childermass could not help but smile a little at Segundus’ assumption that he was out of his wits when he’d been kissed awake. Yes, he had been quite groggy and confused upon waking, but that confusion had burned away quickly to be replaced by a wondrous sort of joy upon the realization that he was being kissed by his dearest love. 

“You are making a great many assumptions about my feelings sir,” he said. “Had you not stopped to think that I was not so confused as all that? Not nearly confused enough to keep me from greatly enjoying your kiss?”

“Enjoying?” Segundus’ face had gone from anxious to confused. “You...are certain sir, that you enjoyed it?” 

“I cannot be more certain of anything, even my own name,” laughed Childermass. “Believe me sir when I tell you that I enjoyed your kiss very much. What now remains to be seen is how  _ you _ felt about it Mr. Segundus, for if you are so very regretful of having done it, I would not presume to ask you to do it again.” 

“Do it again?” Segundus’s eyes were large and gleaming darkly in the orange glow from the fire. “You wish to do it again?” He sounded disbelieving. 

“Only if you were to wish it as well sir,” Childermass replied. “Would you?” he asked, gathering his courage around him and shifting in his chair. “Would you wish to do it again?”

“Oh…” Segundus said again, softly, now looking directly into Childermass’ eyes. His cheeks remained flushed, but his hands had stopped their nervous twisting in his lap and he at least did not look so miserable any longer. In fact, it could have been a glint of hope that Childermass saw reflected in his dark eyes. “Oh Mr. Childermass… I would...I would very much like to kiss you again. I only thought that you would be opposed to it.” 

Childermass felt himself flush with heat upon hearing Mr. Segundus’ words. “Well sir, I am very that glad we are in agreement,” he said. 

Neither moved or spoke for a few moments, and instead looked at each other steadily. Childermass took a moment to admire the handsomeness of Mr. Segundus’ pale features and dark hair and dark eyes and how very small and helpless he looked in the large chair upon which he sat. He longed to enfold Mr. Segundus in his arms and kiss him again, but dared not make a move for fear of scaring the other man off like a startled animal. For Segundus did have about him the feeling of a small woodland creature, soft and clever and cautious and if Childermass reached for him too swiftly, he risked Segundus scurrying away. 

“Would you perhaps want to kiss me again now?” Segundus asked hesitantly. 

Childermass felt himself flush anew. “Yes sir, very much,” he replied. “But I dare not approach you for fear that you will think it a mistake when it is done and avoid me even further in the future. I could not bear to make you do something that you would later regret.”

“I will not regret it,” Segundus said swiftly, and as he spoke he rose to his feet and crossed the distance between their two chairs to stand in front of Childermass, quite close. Childermass felt his heart pounding away inside his chest like the hooves of a running horse and felt his face and neck go hot beneath his shirt, but still he did not move, only looked up into Segundus’ face. 

To his surprise, Segundus sank to his knees in front of Childermass’ chair, between Childermass’ spread legs and looked up at him, dark eyes gleaming in the flickering light of the fire, gleaming and full of hunger The look made a twisting heat pool low in Childermass’ belly. He remained motionless though, for it was Segundus who needed to be drawn out, of his own free will, if he were to rest assured that the other man did indeed want him back. 

“Please Mr. Childermass sir, please. Would I be allowed to kiss you again now?” Segundus asked, and those words, and the other man’s yearning look finally broke Childermass’ spell of immobility. He leaned forward and took Mr. Segundus’ face in his hands and slowly pulled the other man’s soft mouth against his own. Mr. Segundus placed his hands gently over Childermass’ where they gripped his face and kissed Childermass back softly and hesitantly and then with more enthusiasm and soon the kiss grew deeper. Childermass moved to wrap his arms around Segundus’ narrow shoulders, marveling at how slight and delicate the smaller man seemed in his embrace. Segundus leaned up closer to him and Childermass leaned forward in his chair so that they were as pressed together as they could be in such an awkward position. 

The kiss went on and on and the soft feel of Segundus’ lips moving against his own made Childermass feel full of flames and bird wings and glowing embers with how his insides fluttered and burned at Segundus’ nearness. He felt full of affection and passion for Mr. Segundus and he lost himself in the kiss for a long moment or two. 

Segundus broke away eventually and pulled back looking flushed, his chest heaving somewhat. “My knees are not what they once were,” he smiled shyly up at Childermass as he said this, and Childermass returned his smile. 

  
“Then let us get you to a place that is more comfortable,” he replied and then pulled Mr. Segundus up into his lap. Mr. Segundus sat in Childermass’ lap with his legs hanging over the arm of Mr. Childermass’ chair and returned to kissing Childermass’ lips with a soft moan. Childermass wrapped one arm again around Mr. Segundus’ shoulders and placed a daring hand to Mr. Segundus’ hip and pulled him close and kissed him quite soundly. 

The next time the kiss was broken, it was Childermass who pulled away, gasping and full of need, for the weight and feel of Mr. Segundus’ body against him had him quite inflamed. “Mr. Segundus, sir,” he breathed roughly.

  
“Call me John please,” said Mr. Segundus, also sounding quite breathless and affected. 

“John,” said Childermass, feeling a thrill run through him at the use of Segundus’ Chistian name. “John,” he repeated softly, simply for the pleasure he found when speaking the word. “I am very glad to know that you enjoy my kisses. Might you also enjoy it if we were to do more than kiss? Perhaps if we were to lie down together on your bed?”

Segundus paused for only a second before responding. “Oh Mr. Childermass, yes, I would like that very much. Perhaps though, we should… lock the door?”

Childermass concentrated for a moment and then snapped his fingers and they both heard the sound of the lock on the door clicking into place. “Consider it done,” he said with a smile. “And please,” he added. “You may call me John as well.” 

Mr. Segundus grinned happily and swiftly clambered out of Childermass’ embrace and together they rose and went to Mr. Segundus’ bed. Before lying down, M. Segundus swiftly removed his clothing and changed into his nightdress, affording Childermass a quick but very pleasing view of his long, lean limbs and lovely, pale nakedness. Childermass did not have a nightdress and so he merely undressed to his small clothes.

He watched as Segundus’ dark eyes flicked up and down the length of his body and watched as Segundus’ face flushed prettily in response to the sight of his bare arms and chest, and Childermass shivered pleasantly under the other man’s scrutiny. Together, they lifted the covers and climbed underneath.

For a few moments, they lay on their sides, facing each other and not touching, simply watching the other’s face in the light from the fireplace. 

“I have not done this sort of thing before,” admitted Segundus shyly, looking up at Childermass through his lashes. “Have you?” he asked. 

“Do you mean have I lain with men before?” Childermass asked, wanting to be perfectly clear.

“Yes,” replied Segundus, growing impossibly more pink. 

“I have,” admitted Childermass. “A few times in my youth and during my time on the ocean. But I have not done so for years now. Being in constant service to Mr. Norrell and then traipsing about the countryside with Vinculus did not leave me much time for pleasures of the flesh.”

“And is it...painful?” asked Segundus warily.

Childermass chose his words carefully for he did not want to alarm Segundus. “It need not be. We need not do anything you find distasteful or uncomfortable. If done correctly, with care and with the needs of those involved taken into account, love between two men can be very pleasurable indeed.” 

“You like it then?” Segundus asked, and Childermass could not help but to laugh softly at his hesitant question.

“I love it,” he responded. “And I would feel blessed to be allowed to engage in such pleasures with you sir.” 

Here Segundus again grew hesitant and Childermass waited patiently for him to continue. 

“I have never shared pleasure with anyone,” Segundus said softly, his voice going small. “Not man nor woman. I have only ever felt lustful feelings for other men and such a thing has never been allowed. At least not in the society to which I belong.”

Childermass nodded knowingly. Dear Mr. Segundus had spent a life of scholarly study and in the company of good people like Mr. Honeyfoot and Mrs. Lennox. Childermass by comparison had worked on the docks, had been a pickpocket, had frequented disreputable inns and had done disreputable things. Regardless of the nervous twinge he felt at taking Segundus’ virginity, he also found the thought of being the first man to touch and kiss Mr. Segundus’ body in this fashion to be incredibly arousing to him. “Your inexperience in this matter is no hindrance to my desire to be with you sir,” he reassured Segundus. “We can do only what you like and find pleasing and we can leave anything that causes you fear or discomfort out of the proceedings entirely.”

Segundus smiled gratefully at Childermass’ words, but he hesitated yet again. “Do you…” he paused, seeming to struggle to get the words out. “Do you… care for me Mr. Childermass? John? Do you wish more than to just share pleasures of the flesh, for I must admit that I care deeply for you, and would not want this to be a passing fancy.”

Childermass could no longer lie still and keep his hands to himself, not after Mr. Segundus’ hesitant declaration. He moved closer and took Mr. Segundus’ face in his hands and gazed intently into his eyes. “John,” he said softly, “My dear John, you cannot imagine the depth of my affection and love for you. I have never before in my life felt a tenderness and passion for another living soul as I do for you. I wish to be with you in any way you please for as long as you like. My heart is yours.” 

Mr. Segundus let out a little surprised gasp, “oh John!” he exclaimed, “I must admit to feeling the same. I have loved you for quite some time now. My...my heart is yours, unreservedly.” And then he leaned in and kissed Childermass, softly and hesitantly at first. Childermass wrapped his arms around Mr. Segundus and Mr. Segundus returned his embrace and they kissed in earnest for a good long time. How marvelous it felt to finally have Mr. Segundus' slight frame wrapped so tightly in Childermass’ embrace. How sweet Mr. Segundus smelled and how affecting were his little sighs and moans of pleasure as their kissing deepened and grew more and more ardent. 

Childermass revelled in the feel of Segundus’ body pressed against him through the thin material of their remaining clothing and drank in the taste of his soft lips and the small, furtive touches of his tongue. For his part, Mr. Segundus seemed to become more and more enthusiastic with his kisses and had even started to buck his hips a little against Childermass in a way that was quite appealing and quite telling, for Childermass could feel the other man’s stiff private member pressing against him as he moved. 

“John,” Childermass gasped, for he too was fully hard and was feeling an urgent need to be closer to Mr. Segundus’ body. “May I remove your nightdress? May I remove my small clothes so that I may feel your skin against mine?”

Mr. Segundus nodded eagerly and even helped Mr. Childermass to pull his nightdress up and over his head, whereupon it was tossed to the floor next to the bed without ceremony and Childermass swiftly undid his small clothes and kicked them off. They came together again, and Mr. Childermass could not help but moan at how Mr. Segundus’ long, soft limbs and soft belly and slender legs slotted together with his own. And Segundus’ private member… it was now pressed together with Childermass’ own stiff cock. Segundus whined high in his throat and wrapped his hands in Childermass’ long, ragged hair and pressed himself against Childermass and returned to kissing him with renewed fervor. 

They continued in this fashion for some time, and soon began to rock against each other, delighting in the friction this caused between them. Childermass executed slow, patient rolls of his hips and he put a hand on the small of Segundus’ back to help pull him closer. Segundus for his part seemed quite overcome with passion and he trembled and gasped and moved rather more clumsily and urgently against Childermass. 

Childermass knew that if they kept up this insistent, maddening friction that he would soon reach his pleasure, and from the sounds that Mr. Segundus was making through their urgent kisses, soft sighs and low moans, he was not far from reaching his end as well. And so Childermass pushed Segundus away from him and down onto his back on the bed. 

“Forgive me John, but I cannot continue in the way we have been going for much longer or else I will surely reach my pleasure. And I do not wish for this to end just yet. Would you allow me to...kiss you? To kiss your body? Perhaps to kiss you down there, upon your cock?”

He hoped his words had not caused Mr. Segundus to feel any shame or fear or confusion and was greatly pleased when Segundus blushed and nodded his assent. “Yes please, my dear John. I would like that very much,” he replied.

With a sly smile, Childermass set about kissing Mr. Segundus’ neck, then when this earned him gasps of approval, he moved lower to press kisses to Mr. Segundus’s slender collarbone and his narrow chest with its sparse patch of dark silky hair. He closed his mouth around one of Mr. Segundus’ small, pink nipples and felt Mr. Segundus arch under him and heard him cry out. Pleased that the response this caused, he moved swiftly to the other nipple and repeated the caresses of his lips and tongue there as well, and was again rewarded with a sharp cry along with a tightening of Mr. Segundus’ hand in his hair (where it had wound itself without Childermass quite realizing it). 

From there, Childermass moved his kisses lower still, spending some time in reverent worship of Mr. Segundus’ flat, pale stomach, and the rough trail of hair that started below his navel and led downward toward and under where his private member bobbed, stiff and hot over his lower belly. Here Childermass stopped, hovering over Mr. Segundus and drinking in the sight of him with hungry eyes for a long moment. Mr. Segundus’ cock was very hard and dark pink in color and it was shaped so prettily and looked so lovely and inviting that Childermass had to pause and breath deeply for a moment to regain his composure. “Oh John... you are so very beautiful,” he said. And then, without pausing further, he lowered his head and placed a gentle, soft kiss to the shaft of Mr. Segundus’ cock. 

“John!” Mr. Segundus called out and pressed his hips up wantonly into that soft kiss, so that Childermass was obliged to bestow upon it another and another. Soon, his tender kisses became wet kisses as he employed the use of his lips and tongue to taste the hot, stiff flesh of Mr. Segundus’ cock. Mr. Segundus’ hands (for they were now both wrapped in Childermass’ long hair) tightened their grip and he pressed himself up against Childermass’ mouth while he spilled heated cries and gasps into the still air of his bedchamber. Childermass paused in his work for a moment to mutter a spell of dampening to keep Mr. Segundus’ cries of pleasure from waking the whole household before returning to his eager perusal. 

“John...John... _ John _ ,” Mr. Segundus’ voice had gone all urgent and rough. “Please would you…if you could only…” he accompanied his disparate pleas with tugs on Childermass’ hair with his hands and little pulses of his hips up against Childermass’ wet kisses.

Childermass knew quite well what it was that Mr. Segundus wanted, and so he obligingly took Mr. Segundus’ private member into his mouth and slid down upon it until the other man’s cock was almost entirely engulfed in the wetness and heat of his lips and tongue. At this point Mr. Segundus arched his back and cried out quite loudly, making Childrmass glad he had executed the dampening spell when he did. He grasped Segundus’ slim hips in both of his hands and suckled at him with much enthusiasm, reveling in the sharp cries and soft moans that issued from Segundus’ mouth as he writhed upon the bed. Mr. Segundus’ private member, so stiff and so hot, felt wonderful as it moved in and out of Childermass mouth and slid past his lips. Childermass bobbed his head, pressing down as far as he could on every down stroke and rising almost to the tip with every pull upward. In response to the taste and feel and sound of Segundus’ pleasure, Childermass’ own cock had grown so stiff as to be painful. He pressed his hips down into the mattress as he continued suckling at Segundus’ member so that he could find some small relief. 

“John, I … I think...I think that I am close to reaching my end,” Segundus stammered. Childermass responded by increasing his pace, gripping Segundus’ hips and holding him to the bed as he sucked at Segundus’ cock with abandon. Soon he felt Segundus stiffen and heard him cry out again, only this time in a coarser and louder fashion than any time before. He felt Segundus shudder beneath his mouth and hands and felt the hot wetness of Mr. Segundus’ spend spilling into his mouth. Mr. Segundus writhed and trembled and gasped Childermass' name over and over as he reached the peak of his pleasure. 

Childermass kept still and and drank down the salty sweet wetness and let Mr. Segundus thrust up into his mouth until his movements slowed and stopped and his cries became softer and turned to deep breaths and Mr. Segundus finally lay still. Childermass then clambered up to gather the slender man back into his arms and to place soft kisses to his cheek and his sweat-damp brow. 

“How do you feel John?” he asked, gazing down at Segundus’ flushed face and closed eyes as the other man lay, panting gently with his recent exertion. 

“I feel,” said Mr. Segundus, his voice sounding as if he’d had several glasses of strong port, “I feel as if I could leap into the air and fly like a bird.” He opened his eyes and gazed lovingly up at Childermass. “I feel as if I could execute the strongest and most difficult of magical spells. I feel...I feel like a new man entirely.” He grinned up at Childermass with eyes so soft and caring that Childermass was compelled to kiss him again. 

They kissed for quite some time, until it became rather apparent that Childermass had not yet reached his pleasure, for he could not help but thrust his stiff member against Segundus’ hip in a very insistent manner. Mr. Segundus broke the kiss, asking “May I now touch you John?”

“Of course you may,” Childermass responded with some urgency. “I’d like nothing better,” And so Mr. Segundus placed a gentle, hesitant hand upon Childermass’ stiff cock. His touch, though light and not very involved, still had Childermass gasp and thrust his hips against Segundus’ hand. “Yes,” he groaned. “Yes John,  _ yes _ . Your touch feels so very good. Please,  _ more _ .”

Segundus eagerly did so, wrapping his slim hand around Childermass’ shaft and giving him a tentative stroke, which caused Childermass to moan and fall back on the bed. Now Segundus propped himself on his elbow and in doing so he leaned over Childermass’ body and was in a very good position to keep stroking Childermass’s cock with his hand and to also gaze down at Childermass’ member and watch what his hand was doing to it. His eyes had gone very dark and very intrigued by what he saw. 

“Is this to your liking John?” he asked, his voice soft and breathless, “for you must tell me if I am doing something wrong, or if it is not pleasurable.”

“I assure you,” gasped Childermass, “it is very pleasurable indeed. So pleasurable that I do not think you will need to do it for much longer, for I am close to my end.”

“Oh John!” Segundus exclaimed roughly as he continued stroking, “you are so very beautiful. I have dreamed of what it would be like to touch you in this manner for many many months.” 

Mr. Segundus’ words only served to drive Childermass that much closer to his peak. “Oh John,” he moaned and he reached up to grip Mr. Segundus by the shoulder and pressed his hips and stiff cock up into Segundus’ busy hand. “You cannot know how long I have thought of the very same thing. Of being close to you. Of sharing pleasure with you.”

“John,” Segundus said in response, seeming to have nothing else to say, only wishing to repeat Childermass’ name in his tremulous voice, so full of longing. The sound of the name they shared on Segundus’ tongue, and Segundus’ clumsy yet thrilling strokes to his private member pushed Childermass to the brink of his pleasure and he arched and stiffened.

“Fuck! Oh! Oh Christ John,  _ John, _ ” he gasped and then moaned loudly as he felt his pleasure crest and pulse and he spilled in Mr. Segundus’ hand. His seed spurted out hot and wet, and it made Mr. Segundus’ grip on his cock quite slick, which only served to cause more sharp pulses of pleasure and more seed to issue forth. By the time he was done, gasping and trembling and lying in Mr. Segundus’ arms, Childermass felt quite worn out with the exertion of his climax. He had no memory of ever being this strongly affected by a lover’s touch in all the years of his life, and he clung to Mr. Segundus and waited for his breath to return to normal.

Eventually, Mr. Segundus wisely went in search of a rag to dip in his washbasin and used it to clean them both up, for Childermass’ seed was now smeared liberally upon his belly and Mr. Segundus hand and wrist. Then, once they were clean enough, they settled down under the covers, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“I cannot tell you how having you in my bed and in my arms brings me joy,” Segundus said against Childermass’ neck, where his face, cold nose and all was currently buried. “I could not have borne it if you had died and never come back.” 

“I am glad too,” replied Childermass, lazily stroking up and down the length of Segundus’s soft back with the tips of his fingers. “I have loved you for a long time now and I only lacked the courage to say so. Having died without sharing pleasure with you, without telling you of the depths of my regard...it would have been a great tragedy.”

“How will we continue from this day forth?” Mr. Segundus asked, his voice colouring with uncertainty. “What if we are discovered?”

“I do not think that is likely,” said Childermass, pulling Segundus more tightly against him and burying his nose in the man’s soft dark hair. 

“And why not?” asked Segundus.

“Think on it for a moment,” Childermass replied. “We can meet in private on any night we choose because I have now acquired the very useful skill of walking through walls. I will teach you the doing of it and so you may join me in my chambers whenever you like as well. It is simply a matter of casting a sound dampening spell and then I will be able to pull all sorts of noises from you and no one shall know.”He felt Segundus grin against his neck and snuggle closer still. 

“And furthermore,” he continued, “Think of who it is that will discover us. Mr. Honeyfoot? Charles? Your dedicated friend or your dedicated servant? Are they really so hateful as to run to the authorities to report you? And as for Vinculus, I am certain he already knows of my regard for you and has known of my intentions to make you mine for perhaps longer than I have. He cares not a whit for where I put my cock, as long as he is well fed and given whisky and beer to drink, he will not say a word against us.” 

“This does not mean that we should flaunt our love for all to see,” he cautioned. “Outside of our bedrooms, I shall call you Mr. Segundus and you must call me Mr. Childermass and we will behave as dear friends. I only mean to assuage your fears of being reported and imprisoned. I am of the firm opinion that our friends and servants would not do such a harmful thing to two people they claim to care about.”

Segundus seemed to believe him and agree with him, for he sighed happily and settled in warmly and comfortably in Childermass’ embrace. “Still,” he said, his voice muffled by Childermass’ fall of dark hair, “let us be careful. I shall need you to return to your own bedchambers each morning so that we are not discovered by Charles or the chambermaids should they enter without thinking.”

“Yes, I agree.” Childrmass took Segundus by the chin and brought his face out from the crook of his neck and kissed his soft lips. “Let us be careful, but first… would you perhaps wish to repeat the actions of a few moments ago? For I find that your nearness has me ready again quite quickly.” 

Segundus grinned and pressed against Childermass so that Childermass could feel that he was also affected by their closeness. “I would very much enjoy that, my sweet John,” he said and then they were kissing again, and then they did more than kiss. 


End file.
